Here we go.

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"You can't move him! This is my project! I've worked on it for over a year." Daniel was not happy. He obviously didn't handle change well.

"You can relocate," said Hope from across the conference table. "SCI will pay for your moving expenses."

"But my mom lives here!"

Hope rubbed her sinuses. "You can move. Or you can be replaced. Your choice."

Daniel huffed and leaned backward with his arms crossed. "All this because of what? A paperwork mix-up?"

"It's a lot more severe than paperwork," said Nadir.

"You don't need to know everything," Hope said to Daniel. "You need to do your job."

Nadir glanced at her with appreciation. She had been easy to work with so far, down-to-business and direct. Admirable, even. Yet, there was also something familiar about her. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe he had seen her on television, discussing her company. Maybe she reminded him of some of the women on the police force.

"That goes for everyone," said Hope to Gabby. "They will only know as much as they need to. Mostly that they're being paid extra to work overtime on a special project."

"Just what we need," said Nadir, more depressed than annoyed. "More secrets. More bribes."

"I'll have to move, too," Gabby murmured. "At least my daughter is almost done with school. I don't want to give up my work with Erik."

"How far is he going to be moved?" Daniel asked.

"About five hundred miles south," Hope replied. "Three states down. There's an empty lot where an old factory building used to stand. I'm having a team of computer scientists and engineers go down there to see how fast they can make the space into what it needs to be. We don't want to be so rash that we make stupid mistakes and wreck Erik's treatment."

"How will we transport him?" asked Gabby. "Without breaking his Connection."

"That's the million dollar question. It's never been done before. He'll be heavily drugged, and we'll have to make sure his programming is kept intact. It'll be delicate, but I think we can accomplish it with minimal disturbance to the patient. He may just feel like he slept too long." Hope smiled slightly. "Since I'm his mentor, I won't be too hard on him for being late to work."

"This is great!" said Daniel, angrily. "I mean, who screwed up?"

"I did," Nadir immediately replied. "I didn't read the political environment as I should have."

Daniel looked like he was going to yell some more, but Hope said, "It doesn't matter. Nadir, you couldn't have known. We'll do what we can to fix it."

The meeting adjourned five minutes later with some details settled. Nadir walked out with Daniel, who refused to look at him or talk to him.

They were on the sixth floor. In the hallway, they passed a tired looking younger man in a blue terry cloth bathrobe. His brown hair was wet, and his freckled skin glistened from the shower. He looked at Daniel. "Hey! Dan the Man. What's up?"

"Hello, Corey," Daniel grimly replied. "I'm having a terrible day. That's what's up."

"What's going on?" Corey asked, pausing in the hallway.

Daniel didn't stop walking. "Upper management bullshit. I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"Heh. That's always how it is, right? I'll see you later," Corey replied with a wave. His flip flops squeaked as he continued down the hall.

"I'm very sorry," Nadir said to Daniel right before they parted ways. "I didn't want this to happen."

Daniel shook his head and sniffed. "Whatever. We'll deal with it now. Hopefully, my project won't be destroyed."

Nadir soon left SCI headquarters. He should have been happy that significant progress had been made, but he still felt anxious. There was still so much that needed to be done. When Nadir pulled up to his apartment complex, it was nearing sunset. He climbed out of his car and approached the front door.

He turned around and glanced toward the other side of the street. A lit up gas station sat there. Most of the pumps were empty of cars. Nadir swore that he felt someone watching him, saw a shift in the shadows. It was probably his imagination.


Christine managed to enjoy their apartment hunting adventures. They were a break from the sadness. All the units were so clean with polished floors or crisp white carpets. Spacious bedrooms. Fireplaces. "I can't even decide," she said after they had visited the fifth one. "They're all so pretty."

"Take your time. That one with the indoor pool was awesome."

"Yeah. That would be nice. A heated pool in the winter." She hummed with contentment at the thought. Then she felt guilty because this was only happening as the result of her mother's death.

Emotions aside, she needed to make a decision quickly, before Governor Chagny lost patience. She had retrieved most of what she wanted from her mother's apartment. Three cardboard boxes of clothes, memories from her past like the flower book, and enough of her parents' mementos to make a memory box. The bedding and mattresses were kind of yellowed and gross, but she was keeping her dresser and a few tables. Anything that smelled of the old apartment had to go. It didn't matter if her new place was empty for a while. After living in such cramped conditions, spaciousness sounded just fine.

Christine would miss her time at the townhouse. In her grief, she and Raoul had become closer friends over the last couple weeks. They had spent many quiet evenings in front of the television, her wearing pajama pants and t-shirts, under a quilt. They ate pizza and sub sandwiches on the days she didn't feel like leaving the house. Raoul didn't mind when she wanted to go into the bedroom and cry for a while. Or sleep for hours. Finally, she had felt ready to face her mother's clutter and to look for places to live. She had started to put her life back together.

After their latest apartment outing, Raoul took her to dinner at a steakhouse. She dressed for the occasion, slipping on a grey skirt and a white blouse and curling her long hair. She felt like more of a human being than she had in weeks.

"I think you're right," she said as she picked a cucumber out of her salad. "About the best apartment. The heated pool is great. Plus that one had shelf space and big closets. And it wasn't more expensive than the others." She knew he didn't care about the last part.

"Sounds awesome to me," he said. "I'll be over in the winter for that pool."

"You mean to tell me that the Governor's family doesn't have their own heated pool?" she teased.

"Well, we do," said Raoul with a laugh. "But I'd use it as an excuse to see you."

She blushed and looked down. "You're going back to school in the fall, aren't you?"

"Yeah. But I'm not that far. I come home on weekends all the time. I'll visit you."

"Oh. Thanks." She started to reach for a slice of honey wheat bread. His hand fells over hers. She looked up.

"Christine." His voice was nervous. "I know you've been through a lot. I don't want to rush you into anything. But it's probably pretty obvious by now that I…I like you. A lot."

"Oh." She swallowed. Her lip curved upward. "I like you, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Of course."

He inhaled and seemed to brace himself. "Would you want to start dating?"

"Um. Well." She hesitated. "I…I am kind of mixed up right now."

"I know." His face fell slightly. "If it's too soon, that's fine."

She didn't want him to feel badly. It was just that, "I haven't really felt like myself for a while."

"What do you mean?" His thumb stroked her hand, encouraging her to continue.

"It's hard to explain." She sighed. "Years ago, I used to have these big dreams. Maybe they weren't realistic…Anyway, my dad got me voice lessons when I was a kid. I would sing at school and in local plays. He always told me how proud he was of me. Then he died, and it hurt so much. He had always been my best friend. My champion." She took a shaky breath. "I kept singing after that, at the theater. For a while, I felt like he was watching over me. I know you're thinking figuratively, but it was more than that." She stared off to the side, lost in the thought. "It really felt like his ghost was still with me. Then I lost that feeling. I tried not to give up. But now, with my mom gone, I feel like my heart has dropped out of the bottom of my chest. I don't even know if I can sing anymore."

"If singing means a lot to you, you should keep trying," he said.

"Maybe someday. But I don't have it in me right now. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I feel like a broken person. I don't know who I am. I'm not Christine the singer anymore. All I'm doing is getting through each day. Trying not to fail my classes or screw up my life."

She looked up and saw nothing but compassion.

"You've been through a lot," he replied. "But you've handled everything as well as could be expected. Don't be so hard on yourself." He glanced at the bread basket. "You know what I did after my mom died?"

"What?"

"Locked myself in my bedroom for nearly a month. My brother finally dragged me outside and made me play basketball. It was rough."

"Yeah. It is." She squeezed his hand across the table. "So, if knowing all that, you still want to date me. Then I'd like to give it a chance. If we take it really slow. Is that okay?"

"Yeah!" He grinned. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Okay."

He leaned over the little red candle at their table. So did she. They shared their first kiss, gentle and tentative. Someone in the restaurant whistled.

The next month included dinner, movies, bowling, and strolls around the nicer parts of town. Raoul helped her move into her new home. It went slowly, as she wanted it to. When she wasn't with Raoul, Christine focused on schoolwork. They made no more headway with the theater, but she didn't know what else could be done. If the Governor couldn't fix it, who could? Maybe singing was behind her. A relic of her childhood. A fond memory.

After her father dying, near poverty, living in a filthy apartment, a mentally ill mother, a lost theater…maybe Christine finally had some karma on her side in the form of the world's best boyfriend. Maybe, after all the nights of crying, her life had finally become easier.

How very wrong she was.


Alice was one of the first thousand people in the System.

She had been born with a rare genetic mutation that caused chronic pain and exhaustion. Childhood had been bearable, normalcy interlaced with periods of agony and visits to the hospital. Each year of adolescence became worse than the last. Until her mother had allowed her stay home, usually in bed, with a laptop and a distance education program. By the time Alice had turned eighteen, the only way to avoid anguish was to lie in bed. And sometimes even that didn't work.

Her thoughts had eventually and reluctantly turned to the inevitable. She didn't want to do it herself, so she researched the countries that had legalized assisted suicide. Her parents had fought her, especially her poor father. After dozens of conversations, Alice had gently told them that, if they continued to so, she would find another way. Did they really want to stumble across her body one morning? Her parents had relented but still refused to deliver Alice to her final destination. So she had found a lawyer and advocates. She had received donations. The local news covered her story.

A one-way ticket. A suitcase with only a few items. A couple of good friends accompanying her.

Sitting in a wheelchair, Alice had been intercepted in the middle of Dulles International. By a clean-cut man in a crisp suit and tie. He had grinned widely, his eyes shining behind his glasses. "Alice Hastings, right?" he had asked, out of breath. "I'm so glad that I caught up to you. I phoned your father. He thought you were already gone."

Alice had grimaced. She had thought a nut job had discovered her plans and was about to tell her that she was going to Hell. She had ordered her friends to wheel her away from him. The man had hurried to keep up and pulled out a shiny brochure.

Thirty minutes before her plane boarded, she had browsed over the information. "It's virtual reality," she had said, annoyed and frustrated. "It's not even real. How is that a second chance?"

"No," the man had replied. "You're thinking of games and goggles. Of amusement parks. SCI is not that. You'll feel like you're living a different life. Hopefully, one without pain. Think about it. What do you have to lose now?"

She hadn't boarded the plane. Alice had agreed to participate on the condition that she could leave at any time. Back then, they had wanted patients like her, people with less traumatic situations. People they could practice on. At least for her, the initial discomfort had been worth it.

Alice had been connected for five years now. She had seen people arrive and tried to make them feel welcome. She had known patients who had died. She had seen one girl expire right in front of her. It wasn't like real life. The girl had become very still, like a doll, eyes still wide open. Until she flickered and disappeared, forever gone from both worlds.

And Alice had seen people make the choice to leave, including a man whom she had temporarily dated. Another veteran. He had decided that living in the real world, despite his terrible injuries, was better than being here. He had craved real life. Last she had heard, he was happy.

But she was happy in here. And that was the beauty of SCI. They were not prisoners. This was entirely consensual.

Erik disturbed Alice because he was the first person, the first patient, who had ever made her doubt the ethics of the program. Before Erik, she would have happily served as a spokeswoman for SCI. She would have promoted the company. But-

Why would SCI wipe out someone's memory so completely? Why would they wipe out someone's talent and passion? How could that be right? How could it be justified?

Erik knocked at her door around 6 PM on Saturday evening. When she answered, he held up a glass dish of lasagna that was covered with paper towels. "Hey there," she said, making way for him. "That looks good."

"Thank you. I had to call my mother to make sure I got the recipe right." He came into her kitchen and set the dish down on her counter. "It might need to be warmed up later."

"Okay." She turned on the oven. "So what have you been up to?"

"The same as always," Erik replied. "Work."

"Same here. It's been a quiet week." Alice dug inside her refrigerator to make sure she had salad dressing.

"Yes. And I still cannot play the piano."

"Aw. Well, give it some time." She found two bottles of dressing, honey mustard and ranch, and set them on the table. "Anything else new?"

"A couple weeks ago, Mrs. Ivey told me I should date." Erik sounded a little upset.

"Really?" Alice looked up. "Your mentor said that? That's awfully personal."

"Your mentor doesn't say those things to you?"

"No." Her mentor was all business.

"Well, I don't think I want to yet," he said. "Date, I mean."

"That's fine," said Alice. He looked so concerned about it. "You're young. Have some fun."

"It is not really that," he replied. He looked down and ran his fingertips over her counter. "I do not want fun. I mean, fun is fine. But I am simply attached to…" He hesitated. "I don't know. The voice is more of a whisper now. But I still cannot, well, I still think about it…her." He softly asked, "Is that crazy?"

"No. You feel what you feel." Alice wished she had more advice, but this was all really beyond her. She couldn't reassure him that the girl was probably real without destroying the entire illusion. She was relieved when Erik didn't say anything else about it.

Alice moved on. "Okay. So movies. I know I said bad movies. But who wants to watch bad movies? And I won't make you watch a chick flick. Then you'd never come over again." Erik chuckled at this. "So we have the classics. Star Wars. All of them. Lord of the Rings. All of them. Forrest Gump. Jurassic Park. Jaws. Carrie." She looked back at him. "Anything sounding good? If not, I can go to the newer stuff. We have Marvel moves. Uh. Help me out here." He was staring blankly at her. "Zero Dark Thirty. Argo. District 9. Anything?"

"I don't know. What are all of them about?" he asked.

Alice stood up straight and turned all the way around. "Seriously?" Erik blinked. "I'm not trying to be mean, but are you serious?" They had wiped his mind of movies, too? "Okay. I'll pick. Jurassic Park. Dinosaurs."

"Okay." He took a slow seat in her big red armchair. He was a little stiff at first. After a moment, Erik tucked his legs beneath him and seemed to get more comfortable.

"We'll watch part of it and then eat," she said. "Then finish the rest."

They settled in, and Erik appeared to enjoy himself.

At some point, Alice got up to put the lasagna in the oven.


Ring. Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Nadir turned over onto his back. He nearly fell off the couch, grabbing the coffee table to steady himself. What time was it? 7:17 PM. He had fallen asleep for the last thirty minutes. He felt a cold coming on, a tickle in the back of his throat.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He grappled for his phone on the table. The number looked familiar. He answered and reached over to switch off the television. Doing that darkened the room. "Hello?" There was no response. He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Nadir." The familiar voice was so soft – and so sad.

"Jeremy? Is that you? What's wrong?" No response. "Jeremy? Hello?" Nadir sat straight up. "How's Montana? Hello?"

The reply was hushed and frantic. "They found me up there and threatened to arrest me. In front of my wife! They said they could put me away for twenty years. For aiding and abetting. I had to…" His voice broke. "I had to. I'm so sorry."

"What? What did you do?" Nadir stumbled away from the couch. "What did you do?"

"I told them. I told them what we did that night." Jeremy sounded as though he were near tears. "My wife kept asking what was going on. I couldn't hurt her anymore."

Nadir leaned back against the wall, queasy and dizzy. He closed his eyes as a rush of blood swarmed through his head. An unsteady breath escaped the back of his throat. He forced himself to speak in an even tone. "It's all right, Jeremy. It's all right. I always said that if you got in trouble, you should blame me." He knew what question to ask now. He had always prepared for this day. "Did you do as we agreed if this ever fell apart?"

"Yes. I told them it was all us. Not SCI."

"All me, you mean. Not you."

"Whatever. I don't know what kind of evidence they have. There shouldn't have been any e-mails. We were so damned careful. Maybe someone ratted us out."

"You did your best. It doesn't matter now." Nadir swallowed. His throat hurt. "Do you know how much time I have?"

"If you go fast, you might be able to get away."

"Not me," Nadir whispered. "I'm not trying to get away." He had been wearing an undershirt and a bathrobe. He was now pulling on a pair of slacks that he had grabbed from his dirty laundry basket. He yanked them up with one hand. He grabbed a wrinkled white button-down shirt.

"What? Why would you even try?" Jeremy asked in shock. "Save yourself! Not that fucking murderer!"

"I know you don't understand, and that's fine. Do whatever you can to get yourself out of this mess. I'm sorry I put you through this. You take care, old friend."

"But you-" Nadir hung up before Jeremy could reply.

He stared at the wall, paralyzed with terror.

He had to keep moving. He had to try to stop this from becoming even more of a disaster. First, he called Hope. There was no answer. "Damn it!" He tried Gabby next.

"Hello?" Water ran in the background.

There was no time for polite conversation. "I need you to meet me at SCI headquarters. Now."

"Nadir? What?" she asked in disbelief. "Now? I'm cleaning up dinner. I'm going with Meg to her - "

"Do you have security access? Can you get us in?"

"Yes. But can't this wait until-"

"We have to get in there now!"

Silence. The water stopped.

"I'll meet you outside the gate," she whispered.

"I'll see you in forty-five minutes," he replied.

Before he left, Nadir grabbed a Glock pistol from a locked desk drawer. He loaded it and put on a concealed carry belt. His shirt hung over the gun.

He ran out the door.


"I still can't believe you haven't seen all those movies," said Alice. They were heading into the kitchen for salad.

"I think I have heard of them," Erik replied, squinting. "But I don't think I have seen many movies." He seemed confused by it himself. "But I must have? With my friends and parents? I don't know." He shrugged.

Alice let it go. She took the bowl of salad from the fridge and put it on the kitchen table. She grabbed two smaller plates and forks. Then some salad tongs.

The kitchen was calm and cozy, and warm from the heat of the oven. This had been a good idea. Low stress interaction.

"Your lasagna smells so good," she said.

"Thanks." Erik smiled and began to eat his salad.


Nadir had parked to the side of the street, near one of the fields that the surrounded the building. Gabby had picked him up and driven them both through security.

"You had an easy time getting in," he said, his stomach turning. That made him paranoid. Still, there was no sign of the police yet. No sirens or lights. Maybe there was time. Maybe…

"There are sometimes patient emergencies at night," she explained. "I've done this before. Well, not this but…Oh, God." She shook her head. Gabby parked the car and turned toward him, fear in her eyes. She switched off the headlights. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

"Yes. I have to get him out of here. I should have done it weeks ago. But I had hope. Ugh. Literally. Hope." It had been two weeks since he had met with her. "She'll be angry, but you'll have to tell her it was just too late." He looked toward the front doors. They could not delay. "There's no time to second guess now."

They left the car quickly and walked to the building. Nadir refrained from running so as not to look even more suspicious. SCI was especially eerie at night. The lights were still on, but it much was quieter. He could hear the heaters humming. No one was in the front lobby, but he sensed life upstairs. He supposed that SCI would have nurses who worked all hours of the day. Nadir started to run toward the elevators, one goal in mind. Gabby grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Getting him out of here," Nadir nearly snapped. "Now if you could get me a wheelchair or something to -"

"It's not that easy!" She looked at him as though he were crazy. "You can't just pull him out. I have to ask the program monitors to…" She gestured toward her head. "Take him offline, to put it succinctly. We have to drop the illusions. For Erik, it's essential."

"Why?"

"If we don't, his brain will be a mess. There's the possibly that he'd come back to this world but think he's half in that one. Like simultaneous realities. It might cause permanent damage, and he could even die from the stress. We have to get him offline before we wake him up. That's the only way I'll agree to this."

Nadir's shoulders slumped. "All right. Then do it."

"He'll start remembering things while he's in there," she continued, almost speaking to herself. "The basic buildings blocks of his life at least. I'll have them disconnect slowly—"

"Not too slowly! As quickly as possible!"

"Fine," said Gabby, putting up a hand as though to say: Calm down. "Just slowly enough so that it's not all a complete shock to him." She shook her head. "It's not going to be a good situation no matter what. This was not meant to happen!"

It was so difficult to think right now, to make the best decisions. Nadir asked, "What about the other patients? Will they be in danger?"

"You're asking if he could hurt them?" He nodded, and Gabby shook her head. "No. People can't severely injure each other in the System. There's a – it's hard to explain. A feature. For example, if someone were to stab another person, the knife would deflect off the flesh."

"That's good then." A numbness settled over him, as though his mind were protecting him from the reality of what was about to happen. He became very aware of the belt and the gun pressed against his stomach and waist.

Gabby tiredly added, "But he can still scare them. He'll have some of the meds in him for a while; they'll have a calming effect. And maybe he's all alone right now." She looked at her watch. "Maybe he'll go to bed early. If the erasure happens while he sleeps, that could be good enough…"

"If you have him going to bed before 9 PM, you really have done a number on Erik." Gabby turned white at his joke. Her face crumpled. "I'm kidding. I'm sorry. Don't cry, Gabby. Please be strong."

"You really want me to do this?" she whispered, brushing a tear off her cheek. "After all the work that's been put into him? All the pain he endured to come as far as he has. Yes, pain. All of it for nothing?"

Nadir put a hand on her arm. He spoke slowly, firmly, and gently. "Erik is going to wake up no matter what. When he opens his eyes, do you want him to see our faces? Or do you want him to see fifteen guns pointed at him?"

She swallowed and nodded, finally seeming to understand. "I'm going to the third floor," she said. "Stay here."

Nadir waited, constantly looking over his shoulder, listening for sirens. It was so quiet. He heard his heart pounding in his ears.

Ten minutes passed. Where are you?

The elevator dinged, and he turned. Gabby. "I told them the patient was sick." Her eyes were red, but her voice was steady. "I think they were a little suspicious."

"But they're doing it?" This time, he followed her toward the elevators.

"Yes. Give it thirty minutes. Then I'll try to do the rest."


The oven beeped just as they finished up their salads.

"I'll get it," said Erik, standing.

He rose from the chair and felt a little dizzy. Perhaps he had stood up too fast. He walked over to the oven and opened it. A cloud of warm air hit his face. He reached inside with two pot holders and took out the hot glass dish.

Alice again said that it smelled good, but his senses felt dulled. The light in the room seemed dim.

Holding the lasagna, Erik turned around. Alice waited patiently at the table, smiling slightly.

Erik looked down.

At the glass dish. That his mother had given him.

At the lasagna. A recipe that his mother had also given him.

Cheese and sauce and pasta.

That his mother had...he had called…he had asked her about the recipe…and…

He swayed.

No.

No, no, no.

That could not be.

Not the dish and not the recipe. They could not be from her. Not the phone call.

Because he had not seen his mother since he was eight-years-old.

One summer evening, she had told him that she was going out to buy cigarettes and gum. She had ordered him to stay in the bedroom for the rest of the night. But she had never returned. He had sat in his dank, dark room for three days without food or water, waiting for her.

He had wandered the streets during the nighttime, eating from garbage bags and drinking from water fountains, fleeing from any adult who showed interest in him. He had had no reason to trust adults. He had finally found her about three blocks away, sitting on a rotting porch and smoking with three strange men. He had walked up the cracked driveway. She had refused to look at him. He had simply wanted someone to feed him. Then he would leave her alone, as he always did. "Mother?"

She had pretended not to know who he was. She had denied his existence.

"You his mom?" one of the men had asked her. "I thought you said you didn't have kids."

"I don't know what he's talking about," his mother had coolly replied. "I'm not his mom. Maybe he's stupid."

The men had all laughed at this. "You a retard, kid?" one had asked. "Is that why you have a mask on? You're retarded and think it's Halloween? Boo!"

The men had scared him off the property, laughing as he fled. One of them had thrown a glass bottle, and it had hit him in the back of the head. He had fallen onto the concrete and skinned his knee. He had picked himself up and run away.

That was the last time he had seen his mother.

So this glass dish could not be from her.

Nor could the lasagna recipe.

Nor the phone calls.

The dish slipped from his hands.

It hit the floor with a deafening crash- exploding into fragments of glass and chunks of food. And the tomato sauce, splattered all across the kitchen, bore a slight resemblance to blood.