Illya Kuryakin had been poked and prodded, probed and scanned until he was desperate to escape. If it had not been for his promise to Napoleon, he would have got up and walked out three days ago, regardless of the consequences.
The most frustrating and upsetting thing was, the medical and psych departments had, for the time being, forbidden anyone from answering any of his questions, so the things spinning about in his head, half-forgotten memories that demanded an answer were left spinning with no satisfaction in sight.
It had not been all bad though. It had been an immense relief to be told that the scans of his brain had revealed no brain damage. At least, the worst-case scenario of dead brain tissue caused by the machine had been ruled out. The machine had successfully scrambled some of his memories it seemed, but the knowledge that nothing was actually missing was truly fabulous. The problem was, knowing that the memories he had lost were still in his mind did not help if his memory pathways had been scrambled. It was like trying to navigate a strange maze in the dark. He might find a memory during the course of his wandering, but it would be totally random.
He remembered as though it was yesterday, one of his very rare meetings with Elinor, and presenting to his three year old son Dimitri a teddy bear that had been his own. The little boy had been delighted with it, and hugged it fiercely and protectively. Then, his memory leaped forward to rescuing Napoleon Solo from captivity in a THRUSH satrap in Russia, and shortly thereafter he was working in New York, and never a thought for Elinor and Dimitri back home. Where were they? He would never have abandoned them, not for anything; so, where were they? If he was in America, then so must they be. If they were not, then there could be only one possible explanation. One that he feared almost more than anything else.
There was something else too. A memory of a heartbreak, but what could it be? He had memories of being alone in his own apartment here in New York, weeping and crying desperately. The word sad came nowhere near to describing the feelings that he remembered gripping him, but again, the reason for them was missing. This memory was nothing to do with Elinor or Dimitri. It was something else. Something more recent. What could have happened to him on this continent to affect him that profoundly? He knew Napoleon would probably be able to enlighten him, but doctor Fergus believed that it would be preferable if he could try and work out the answers for himself. She had explained to him that memories were never like desert islands, totally unconnected. Memories were more like…like individual strands of a web or a net that were woven together. You could not simply remove one strand without affecting all of the others. If one strand is hidden, in theory you should be able to find it again by locating a strand to which it was connected and tracing it back to its source. Being as every strand is connected in multiple ways, there should be multiple paths to reach each missing memory fragment.
Illya understood, but it felt like there was some kind of mental block. He had located several `strands' connected to his memories of Elinor, but whenever he came close to locating the memory, something came screaming out of the dark place in his head. Something sharp and heavy that made him feel like he was running out of air, his head pounding in pain. He did not need doctor Fergus to explain that one to him. He recognized it well enough on his own. Panic and fear. Was it his own fear of the unknown? Or a false fear, implanted somehow, a side effect of the brain machine? Either way it troubled Illya more than he was willing to admit. Fergus knew he was holding back on her and refused to approve him for fieldwork until she was convinced that he would be able to focus his entire mind on his job.
Illya tried testing his memory by going over familiar ground. Starting with Katiya, who was she and where had she come from? He remembered the whole affair. Learning about the death and treachery of his brother Mikhail, followed by the attempts on their lives that had lead he and Napoleon to faking their own deaths in order to travel to Russia to seek out the truth for themselves. He remembered learning about his brother's daughter for the first time and his own determination to find the child and care for her. He remembered being captured and locked up by Katiya's maternal grandfather Kir Yuriyev Kossov, and then himself getting sick and nearly dying. He remembered Kossov betraying THRUSH in order to save his life and then having to into hiding with Katiya as a result. No, most of his memory was fine. But where were Elinor and Dimitri, and what was this heavy thing that sat on his heart like a dozen elephants?
He knew the memories were still hidden in there somewhere. He had woken up once or twice in medical crying and shaking, to the consternation of the nurses and the embarrassment of himself. But try as he might he could not remember what he been dreaming. Now he just wanted the hell out of medical and to go home. He sat in Fergus' office, perched on the edge of the armchair rather than relaxing as he had been asked. Fergus was not in her chair at her desk though. She was standing behind him, with her back to the shuttered window.
"What is holding you back from remembering, Illya?"
"How about amnesia?" he snapped irritably.
"You don't have amnesia though. Your memories are right there. You see them at night while you are asleep. Why are you hiding from them whilst you are awake?"
"They are hiding from me."
"Or perhaps you are afraid to look for them. If they are painful memories?"
"How do I know what they are?"
"You are an intelligent man, Illya. You have already worked out which memories are missing. There may be small things missing that you don't realise you have lost, but the big things, things that you know you ought to remember, things whose loss would severely impact your life, those missing memories you have already tracked down, by the hole they left behind."
"Yes."
"What is missing, Illya?"
"I'm married with a son. I should be with them in Russia. Why did I agree to come to America whilst I have a family to care for?"
"That is a very big hole to fill."
"Yes."
"You described a dark place, Illya. A dark place in your mind. You said that it felt like it was growing. Do you still feel that way?"
Illya shrugged, nodded, then shook his head. Fergus came round and leaned against the front of her desk this time, facing him. He looked very sad.
"Why are you uncertain? Have you changed your mind?"
"I…I don't know. It feels like it is still growing, but…I still have all my memories except…"
"Except for the few you have identified. How many?"
"Two."
"What do you think the dark space is?"
"I thought at first that it was a sign of my own madness, of my mind being eaten away by that machine of THRUSH's, but…"
Fergus nodded.
"You have since learned that there is no permanent brain damage, so the dark space you describe must signify something else."
Illya looked up at her.
"What is it doctor? You are supposed to be the one with all the answers. What is it?"
She smiled faintly, her expression kind.
"I don't have any answers for you, Illya."
"Then what am I doing here?"
"You already have all the answers you need. I am just here to help you find them."
"I was in that place for about two hours, hooked up to that blasted machine for less than that. How could they screw me up like this in so short a time?"
"Why do you think you are all screwed up, Illya? Tell me what you are feeling right now."
"Angry."
"Yes. What or whom are you angry at?"
"THRUSH for doing this to me. You for being a pain in my ass. Me for…"
"For being human?"
He nodded. Fergus smiled wryly.
"What else are you feeling?"
"I'm hungry. Are we almost done?"
Fergus sought and held his gaze and repeated her question.
"Tell me what you are feeling, Illya."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"If you don't, you will never get to the bottom of things."
"The dark space inside my head?"
"Yes. Tell me how it makes you feel. What feelings come over you when you look into that dark space?"
Illya shook his head. Fergus moved her chair so that she was sitting directly opposite to him and she took his hands. They were clammy. Her face infinitely kind, but serious, she looked him in the eye.
"I know you don't want to look, Illya. That is why is feels like it is getting bigger, because you are trying to ignore it. T HRUSH's brain machine didn't mess up or screw up anything. Not in the way you think. It is important that you look into that dark space and talk to me. Tell me what you see and what you feel."
Illya felt as though his heart were beating so loudly that Fergus could surely hear it. He should not be this frightened. He was a section two agent. A usually pretty fearless agent at that, if he did say so himself. What was he doing being so darned afraid? Why was he so afraid of his own mind? Was it his memories he was afraid of?
He knew that Fergus believed that they were particularly tragic or difficult memories…the sort of memories that would be the first to come to the surface at the behest of a machine that eats memories for breakfast. The strongest, most recent or most powerful memory would be the easiest to recall. What exactly had that machine done to him? Fergus was still looking at him intently, waiting for him to answer. She still had a firm hold of his hands. He tried to relax with her. She wasn't a woman any longer, she was a bandage. A security blanket. She was kind and helpful. She would help to make the sharp, heavy burden go away and leave him in peace. Or was that pieces?
She was a good doctor. She knew enough not to keep haranguing him. She could see that he was trying to collect his thoughts. He frowned slightly, and looked away. She smiled slightly.
"Close your eyes, if it helps. Take your time, Illya. You have all the time you need."
Illya closed his eyes and looked into the dark. Again, that sharp, loud, heavy terror rushed at him like some kind of monster and he jerked back as if he had been physically attacked. Fergus could see sweat breaking out on the Russian's brow.
The Russian agent was a man who never showed his emotions. Anger, amusement, joy, happiness, sadness, fear…the only image the majority of his colleagues ever saw was the cool, icy façade that Illya presented to everyone every day. Calm, cold efficiency was his working motto, and Fergus knew that for the most part that was exactly what Illya was. Of course, he felt fear from time to time. All section twos were afraid sometimes. With the kind of things they faced every day in the course of their work they would have to be fools not to be afraid sometimes. But they were experts at not showing it.
Illya was afraid right now, and for him to be unable to hide it, the fear was pretty intense. She resisted the urge to nod, as things came together for her in an almost audible click.
"Go with it, Illya. Fear is a primal survival instinct. As a section two agent you learn to respect your fear, for it keeps you safe. You and your partner are about the best in your field. You know about the value of fear. You also know what fear really wants at the end of the day…don't you?"
"To be defeated? Fear wants to be conquered."
Fergus nodded.
"You know how to do that, Illya."
"To face it?"
"Yes. Face it, and look into the dark."
Illya nodded, and gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and looked into the dark. Once again that large knot of terror rushed at him, and again he jumped. He felt the doctor gripping his hands powerfully, reassuringly, and stealing himself, he pushed past the terror, he kept gazing into the dark. He was shaking. He was falling into a well, deep and dark, where the daylight had never penetrated. He was falling, falling, almost like Alice falling into her rabbit hole. A loud noise, deafening, rang through his head, and he longed for it to stop. Then he realized it was himself, screaming. He took a deep breath and the noise stopped. The darkness was suddenly gone, and he was suffocating, his lungs filling with water. He tried to swim to the surface but something was holding his hands, keeping him anchored down. He struggled, but the grip on his hands remained firm. There was a voice in his ear.
"Go with it, Illya. Go on, you're doing well. Just go with it. Tell me where you are, what you can see, what you are feeling?"
"I'm drowning, I can't breathe…" he gagged, and then he surfaced, and scrambled out onto the shore. He looked around.
"I'm in…I'm…I'm back home…I'm standing beside the Danube…there's a thunderstorm…"
Illya peered out; far out on the surface of the river were two figures, floating away downstream. A young woman in her mid-twenties and a child; a boy about three years old. In a flash of recognition, Illya realized who they were. He gasped and cried out, then he was back in doctor Fergus' office. She had not moved.
"It was Elinor and Dimitri! They drowned, doctor, they drowned! They drowned in the river Danube during a thunderstorm. I came here because I had nothing to make me stay at home. I had no one left…"
Doctor Fergus watched Illya gulp and swallow down his feelings, and she gripped his shoulders.
"Illya, THRUSH took your strongest emotions and buried them behind a wall of false fear. If you bury them again, that dark space in your head will always be there. That machine used a combination of drugs and electrical impulses and together with the voice of its operator, it acted as a sort of mechanical hypnosis machine. You must face your feelings about Elinor and Dimitri. You ran away to New York in part to escape from their memory didn't you?"
Illya nodded.
"I never even got to say goodbye to them, and then I was here and it was too late."
"Have you never cried for them?"
"I don't cry."
Fergus nodded. Illya always said the same thing, but she knew better. All men cried, even if they only ever did it in private.
"Crying is good for you, Illya. Negative emotions create toxins that our tears help to release. And it makes you feel better."
Ilya was prepared to take her word for it, but he was not about to cry in front of her.
"Is the dark space still there?"
Illya shook his head and looked up in wonder.
"It's gone…but I still have missing memories…"
Fergus nodded.
"The dark space Illya, was the mental block of fear and terror created by the THRUSH machine in order to stop you from digging too deep and getting your memories back. The idea was for you to be too afraid to try, and if their experiment had gone the way they intended, they would have had themselves a readymade servant who had no desire at all to dig into his past. Their mistake was using it on you."
"So, the other memory will come back now?"
"Well, if the dark space has completely gone, it must be linked in some way to your memories of your wife Elinor."
"Elinor…" Illya's eyes were suddenly as round as saucers. "My wife. My wife doctor, it was my wife. They took my wife from me. It was THRUSH! Elinor drowned, and my son. That was an accident, but I never faced it. I came here to escape from the memories. But THRUSH killed my wife. They killed Claire. That was why I was…it was Claire. They took her from me twice! First they took her away from me and then they tried to take away my memory of her!"
A huge tear rolled down his nose and he wiped it away. It was quickly followed by another, and then another. Fergus handed him a box of tissues and gently stroked his back as he leaned forward, and wept.
