Visions and Voices in a Dark Wood

Greetings,

This story was written for a prompt called 'Dream Catchers'. It works as a stand alone story but is also a follow-up to a previous story published on this page called "The Grandmother's Pendant". I haven't decided if I am going to try to turn these into a longer book, although I do like the style of dialogue that the stories are built around.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to any feedback!

Thanks,

James

Visions and Voices in a Dark Wood

by James J Meadows III

                I cannot begin to guess how long I drifted in the strange white mists before the world finally swam back into focus. When it did, I found myself in a scene very different from the large mowed lawns and wide grassy expanses of my grandmother’s estate. Though I was still standing inside a fairy ring, one identical in every detail to the one I was cajoled into entering as I ran-away from home following my grandmother's funeral, the similarities ended there.

                The beams of morning sunlight had vanished, replaced by an eerie black gloom which settled over the surrounding woods, whose thick black trees formed a canopy so impenetrable all strands of light became swallowed by the hungry leaves coating their twisted limbs. I shuttered involuntarily. Dangling by strings from almost every branch, like some sort of demented Christmas ornaments, hung hundreds, perhaps thousands, of little hoops adorned with feathers, strings and what looked like small beads carved into the shape of skulls.

                The strange ornaments possessed glittering blue sapphires in the center of the loops. These gems provided the only light in the clearing, emitting an odd violet glow which enhanced my already growing unease. There was no movement, no wind, and no noise of any kind to break the stillness.

                Everything about the strange location unnerved me, reminding me forcibly of the various sinister woods my grandmother often wrote about in fantasy stories, stories she started composing after her mysterious disappearance, and equally mysterious reappearance, when she was my age. 

                “Hello!” I called.

    My frightened voice sounded strange in my ears. I stared around, hardly daring to move, making a point not to step outside the fairy ring. The round line of mushrooms glistened in the blue glow like fortress walls, making me feel safe even if I couldn’t tell you why.

                “Hello,” a voice replied.

    It came so suddenly I almost screamed. The voice was strange, possessing an unnaturally high pitch, which was difficult to describe. It cast images into my mind of a small playful little girl while simultaneously giving the sensation of speaking to a wise old man. What was more, it sounded quite close. Yet when I looked around I could see no one.

                “Where are you?” I asked.

                “I am here,” the voice responded. “You are too. Although I must admit I don’t know why. No one ever comes into these woods, except for us when we are doing our ritual of adulthood.”

                “Who are you?” I asked, still glancing around wildly, not seeing anyone.

                “I am me,” the voice responded. “Who are you?”

                “I am Annie."

                “Hmm, I’m not familiar with that term,” the voice said. “What is an Annie?”

                “I’m Annie,” I replied. “Annie is a name - my name.”

                “So you are a name?” the voice replied, sounding almost as confused as me.

                “No,” I replied. I felt slightly exasperated. I was, after all, in a strange, frightening land and this dialogue wasn’t helping me get any information.

                “But you said you are Annie, and Annie is a name,” the voice replied. “Doesn’t that mean you are a name?”

                “Look, can we just talk about something else?” I said.

                “Sure, what do you want to talk about?” the voice answered.

                Looking down, I saw the circle of mushrooms at my feet. While I felt protected inside the circle, I also knew I couldn’t stay here forever. I raised my foot to take a step, then hesitated, glancing around at the dark forest and its eerie, foreboding shadows.

                “Is it safe for me to step out?” I asked.

                “Why wouldn’t it be?” the voice asked. “Do you have difficulty taking steps? Does your race perhaps suffer injuries from walking and this is why you are standing still?”

                “No,” I replied, annoyed. “I am perfectly capable of taking a step without injuring myself!”

                “Then I would suppose it is safe for you to take a step,” the voice replied.

                “That was not my…grrr,” I growled, “Nevermind!”

                Driven by frustration, resigned to the inevitability of acting, and taking some solace in the fact that I could jump back into the circle if I needed to, I stepped out from the ring. I instantly regretted the decision. The sensation of safety vanished; the mushrooms vanished; the ring vanished.

                I found myself standing in the middle of a dark forest, where my breathe rose like smoke in the icy air. Apparently the fairy ring also protected me from the cold, providing a false sense of warmth, which I missed greatly now that I no longer had it. I took another step forward, the bottom of the low-hanging ornaments brushing the top of my hair.

                “I wonder what these are,” I marveled aloud, staring at their unique and masterful, if frightening, designs.

                “They are dream catchers,” the now familiar voice replied. “They are there to catch your dreams. Better be careful, though.”

                I looked around for the source of the voice again, wondering if I might be able to see it now that I was no longer inside the ring. I couldn’t; but my eyes did catch sight of a piece of moonlight streaming through some nearby bushes. They were tall, though thankfully not thick, and I was able to push my way through them rather easily.

                On the other side, I beheld a beautiful lake, its clear waters and smooth glassy surface sparkling in the moonlight. It stood out like a beacon of peace within the otherwise dark forest. Nearby, a series of rocks formed a sort of pier, extending into the middle of the lake. Alongside it, standing up to his waist in the smooth water, his clothes piled neatly on the rocks beside him, was a young man of about my own age.

                My jaw dropped as I stared at him. He had long smooth hair, clear clean skin, a six pack that most men would die for, and the muscles sculpting his body formed just the perfect balance of firm and strong without being bulky. As I stood marveling at him, he turned and looked at me.

                At first, he took a quick step back, as though startled by my appearance, then I saw his face relax.

                “You scared me,” he said. “I was just taking a bath. I’m not used to meeting other people out here, especially young ladies as pretty as yourself.”

                I blushed slightly, my gaze transfixed on his blue eyes, which stared up at me with a fascination and wonder almost as great as the wonder I felt looking at him. I brushed my hair behind my ear with an almost instinctual gesture and took a step forward.

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I said. “It’s just, I’m kind of lost right now and I don’t know where I am.”

                “You didn’t frighten me,” the young man replied. “I’m actually happy for the company. It gets pretty lonely out here sometimes. Why don’t you come and sit down? If you’re lost, maybe I can help you.”

                He gestured toward the stone pier stretching out beside him, where his clothes rested. I started toward it when the now familiar voice from earlier broke the serenity.

                “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” it called quietly.

                It seemed to be coming from behind me.

                “Why not?” I demanded, turning around to face the speaker, only to discover I was staring at open air.

                I gave an irritated huff and turned back around. A scream burst from my lips. The beautiful lake had vanished, replaced by a swirling black quagmire of dead plants and slime. In the middle of it, where the man stood just a moment ago, hovered a creature composed of transparent silky robes wrapped around a luminous turquoise skeleton. Glowing green orbs shone from inside the sockets of the skeletal face while clawed arms, drifting in their bizarre robes stretched toward me.

                Still screaming, I stumbled backward, falling onto my butt before turning and dashing back through the bushes, where I tripped over a tree root. With a nasty thud, I crashed to the earth, sprawling across the ground.

                “Are you alright?” asked the mysterious voice.

                “What was that thing?” I asked in a terrified whisper.

                “That was a dream spirit,” the voice replied. “They use the dreams captured by their dream catchers to lure victims into their grasp, where they can feast upon their life force.”

                “What?” I replied, still trying to catch my breath. “Feast upon their life force? You told me it was safe out here?”

                “No I didn’t,” the voice replied. “I told you it was safe to take a step out. And it was. Taking a step out didn’t hurt you at all.”

                “That isn’t what I meant and you know it!” I fumed.

                “Actually, he doesn’t,” came a soft voice to my right.

                I recognized the voice at once. Turning, I found myself, to my breathless amazement, staring up into the face of the one woman who meant the most to me in the world.

                “Grandma?” I said, staring at her with disbelief. “How? I mean, you’re dead.”

                “Time works differently here in this world than in our world,” she said. “There are many things which will be a mystery to you, like your friend.”

                “What is he?” I asked.

                “He is a pseudodragon.”

                “A dragon?” I asked looking around. “Why can’t I see him?”

                “No, not a dragon, a pseudodragon,” she replied. “They are very similar in appearance but very different in nature. You can’t see him because he is naturally invisible. He has to make an effort to be seen, just as you would have to make an effort to walk on one leg.”

                “What do you mean when you say, ‘he doesn’t know what I meant’?” I asked.

                She gave a small laugh.

                “Psuedodragons are very complex and wondrous creatures,” she replied. “Yet, they are also very simple minded. They understand everything from a very literal perspective. They aren’t like us.”

                I stared at her for a moment, pondering this. As I watched, she gave me a small smile.

                “I always knew you would find this place, just like I did,” she said. “You always had the right spirit and sense of adventure. How I wish your mother was the same way but I could never get her to straighten her life. You, you were the one I knew had the spirit to follow in my footsteps.”

                A smile spread across my face as I stared into her loving eyes.

                “Grandma,” I said. “What am I supposed to do here? I’m confused.”

                “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

                She extended a hand to help me up. I reached for it. Just as my fingers came within inches of her own, a burst of bright light shot between us. Streams of crackling lightning split the air, causing me to fall back down, shielding my eyes. My grandmother retreated backward.

                With a bound, I saw a creature leap into the space between us. It was small, only about two feet tall, with a pair of tiny wings, no bigger than a butterfly’s, resting atop its back. The skin was a strange hue of multiple colors, all sparkling, as though the body was composed of tiny gems. In every other way, it looked like a dragon, with a long neck, black eyes, and fierce claws, except all of these features were shrunk into the size of a puppy dog.

                At the same moment, the image of my grandmother disappeared, replaced by another glowing skeleton, floating off the ground in its transparent white robes. I gasped as it let out a horrifying shriek, reaching forward as though attempting to grab me. The dragon opened its mouth, shooting another fierce bolt of electricity at the creature. The monster dodged the attack easily, yet made no effort to continue its assault. Instead, with an angry shriek, it retreated, fading into the darkness.

                The tiny creature turned toward me, seemingly studying me with its deep black eyes.

                “The image you saw?” it asked. “Was that your grandmother?”

                The voice was the same one I spoke with earlier, there was no doubt about that.

                “Yes,” I answered.

                “You are the granddaughter of The Great Light?” it asked.

                “The what?” I replied.

                “Nevermind,” it said. “If the woman you saw in that image was your grandmother, then we must get you out of these woods fast. The creatures here will not take kindly to you. Follow me.”

                It spun around and headed away from me, hurrying through the woods. I climbed onto my feet, chasing after it.

                “Wait,” I called. “How do I know you’re not another dream or illusion from the dream catchers?”

                It turned around, staring at me with a quizzical expression.

                “Have you ever dreamed or longed for a pint-sized dragon to save you from the heart of an evil forest?”

                “Well...no,” I replied, taken aback.

                “Then, you are probably safe,” it said, in a matter-of-fact manner. 

                Without another word, it spun around and hurried away. I hurried after it. My other questions could wait. For now, I just wanted out.

My Grandmother's Pendant

Greetings Everyone,

My newest story is based upon a prompt from my Short Story group. I hope  you enjoy it. The name of the story is "My Grandmother's Pendant". I'd love to get some feedback and hear what everyone thinks!

"My Grandmother's Pendant"

by James J Meadows III

Backpack on my back, book in my hand, and small tears clinging tenaciously to the corners of my eyes, I set off down the long tree-lined path without so much as a look back at the house I once considered the closest thing to heaven in this lonely world. The house belonged to my grandmother but I would not see her again. Nor would I ever see the numerous family members, including my own mother, who had traveled from their various towns and states to attend my grandmother’s funeral. No, they were all behind me now. I was running away.

                It was likely, perhaps even more than likely, considering how much my grandmother always said we were alike, that my actions were modeled in some small part after her own. My grandmother had run away when she was a child too. For her, she was fleeing the abuse of an alcoholic father; for me, it was a cocaine addict mother.

                The sun had yet to crack the distant horizon as I walked through the gloomy shades of early morning. The company at the house would probably not wake for at least another couple of hours and no one would check on me for at least an hour or two after that. Being the only teenager in the family, I had gotten my own room. I made sure of it. I knew I was going to run away after the funeral was over. There was no reason for me to stay now that grandmother was gone. She was the only person who ever seemed to really care about me. I only hoped my attempt to run away could be as successful as hers.

                My grandmother ran away when she was fifteen years old, the same age as me. She was missing for almost two days before she turned up at her doorstep dressed in strange clothing, missing all her belongings and wearing a bizarre pendant around her neck. Grandmother never told anyone what happened to her while she was away and never explained where she got the clothes and the necklace. She simply claimed it was a good luck charm.

It must have worked because from that day on, her father, apparently broken-hearted after his daughter left, gave up drinking. He never touched another beer or harmed her again. Shortly thereafter, grandmother also published her first book; one of many fantasy stories, filled with bizarre magic, strange creatures, and parallel worlds, that would transform the teenager into a best-selling author and celebrity. It was one of these books that I held in my hand as I walked away from the house where my grandma had lived and died, still wearing that necklace even on her deathbed.

I wished I had such a good luck charm. In fact, my grandmother, who had always promised to leave a special surprise for me when she died, had bequeathed the necklace to me. Unfortunately, as seemed to be my luck, the necklace had disappeared. No one could find it, though people swore she was wearing it at the moment she passed away. Somehow, someone must have taken it off while her body was being prepared for burial and the necklace had gotten lost.

The end of the lane was approaching as faint sunlight began to crest the distant hills of my grandmother’s plantation. I knew I needed to hurry my pace. The town, and its rickety old bus stop which was my pen-ultimate destination, lay several miles away. I needed to reach it before anyone could catch me. The gate at the end of the lane was open and I was just about to dart through when I heard a voice call out to me.

“I will not say running away is a bad idea,” a woman’s voice rang out from the base of a nearby tree. “However, I will say that the time has come for you to return home.”

I spun around, my head turning in all directions as I sought to find the speaker. I spotted them at the base of the last tree on the right; a tree which had often caught my eye in the past for the strange way it seemed to stand out from all the others. Its exterior was darker than the rest, with numerous knots, cracks, and large roots protruding from the ground; upon which sat a solitary figure in a brown hooded robe. Upon my turning around, the stranger rose to face me.

            The mysterious newcomer, who I presumed to be a woman, based upon the voice, wore her hood so low that none of her features were visible inside the dark shadows formed by the hood and still rising sun. Likewise, the robe, which stretched all the way down to the tiptop of the freshly mowed lawn, obscured all of the woman’s features. I could make out only her lips, which smiled at me with an amused expression both strangely familiar and foreign.

                “Who are you?” I asked.

                The smile grew. “You know who I am,” she replied.

                This answer, both cryptic and troubling, combined with the stranger’s bizarre appearance, made me extremely uncomfortable. I wasn’t in the mood to play games to begin with and, if I had been, I certainly wouldn’t be doing it with some cloaked stranger trespassing on my grandmother’s plantation at five thirty in the morning.

                “No, I really don’t,” I replied, a little irritated. “And, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere that I need to go.”

                I started to turn around when the stranger spoke again.

                “Yes, you do,” she replied. “But you are not going where you think you are going.”

                The words caused me to freeze in my tracks. A feeling of apprehension gripped me and I turned around nervously.

                “What do you mean,” I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

                “I mean, you are not going where you are going, but instead you are going where you are going,” she replied.

                “That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied, my fear battling with my curiosity, as the bizarre game continued.

                “It will,” she said. The woman extended a hand from the cloak and help it out toward me. “Take my hand.”

                Fear gripped me. Though the woman didn’t seem any taller than me and didn’t sound any older than me, she had a strong, commanding voice, that didn’t leave much room for questions. Even though she had taken no direct hostile actions toward me, I felt frightened. A part of me wanted to run.

                At the same time, however, there was something strangely familiar about the woman. I couldn’t place exactly what it was, but there was something compelling about her; a strange energy which seemed to pull at me, making me want to comply with her request. Perhaps it was her confidence; maybe it was the gentleness with which she spoke; perhaps it was the strange familiar smile lining her lips, but whatever it was, something about her appealed to me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked

“I am taking you home,” she responded.

“You’re lying,” I replied.

“Of course I am. I am also telling the truth. Either way, take my hand.”

“Why won’t you tell me where we are going?”

“Because if I told you, you wouldn’t go,” she said. “And you must go.”

“Why wouldn’t I go, if I knew?” I asked.

“Because you wouldn’t believe me. And because it is dangerous. And because you don’t trust me.”

“You’ve already admitted you’re lying to me,” I said, with some exasperation. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” she replied. “And you won’t. But you’ll come with me anyway.”

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer,” I asked. “Why do you speak in riddles?”

“Because sometimes riddles are the only direct answer,” she said.

“You’re confusing.”

“And yet you understand me,” she replied.

“If I understand you, then why I am so confused?”

“Because you don’t understand yourself,” she said.

“What don’t I understand?”

“You don’t understand why you’re going to go with me,” she answered.

This was true. For although I felt suspicious and distrustful, there was still that strange compulsion tugging at my mind; almost like an overwhelming sense of curiosity, so great it held me spellbound.

“Are you forcing me to go with you?” I asked.

“No. You’re going to choose to go with me.”

“Why would I do that when I know you’re lying to me and I know I can’t trust you?”

“That is what you don’t understand.”

“How do you know that I’m going to go with you?” I asked.

“That is what you’re going to find out.”

“And then what will happen?” I asked, beginning to feel stupid from the mix of bizarre riddles and answers that answered nothing.

“Then you’ll understand,” she replied.

Feeling both completely bewildered, and without fulling understanding why I did so, I extended my hand to take hers. She led me to the other side of the tree. There I saw, to my astonishment, a circle of tiny mushrooms. I was sure they hadn’t been there a couple of days ago and, if they had been, they should have been destroyed by the mowers yesterday. They must have popped up overnight.

“A fairy ring,” I said, gazing in astonishment.

“Step inside, and close your eyes,” she said, gesturing toward the middle of the circle.

“What will happen?”

“You will go to where you going,” she replied.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“To a place you wouldn’t go if you knew you were going. To a place you are glad you did now that you have,” she replied.

I didn’t understand but something told me I wasn’t going to get a better answer than that.

“What if I don’t go,” I asked.

“You will,” she answered.

“Why should I?”

I saw the shoulders of the cloak rise as though the woman were giving a shrug.

“What have you got to lose?” she answered.

The last statement was perhaps the first thing the woman had said which made any sense to me. If I was truthful with myself, which I had tried not to be so far, I was attempting an almost impossible get-away with little money, less food, and hardly any prospects of help. My only hope was that some bizarre miracle might happen like happened to my grandmother. I supposed whatever bizarre twist of fate was happening right now was as good as any other I could expect.

With a sigh of resignation, I stepped into the ring and closed my eyes. As I did so, the woman called out to me.

“One last thing,” she said.

I spun around to face her, only to discover that the woman had taken off her cloak. The face that stared back at me was one I knew only too well. It was my own.

Yet it was also not my own. It appeared more confident; more sure; more proud; more of everything that I wasn’t at this point in my life. She was wearing different clothes than my own but still had the same backpack on her back. What caught my eye above all else, though, was the necklace around her neck. It was grandmother’s lucky charm.

“Remember our grandmother,” she said. “And do her proud.”

As she finished the words, I felt a tingle, like a burst of electricity shoot through my body. I found myself unable to move or speak as every inch of my skin burned and pulsed with strange vibrations. As if responding to these vibrations, weird dancing lights and thick swirling white mist encircled me.

Through the haze, I watched my other self turned around and start back toward the house. The next second, white mist obscured my eyes and everything vanished.  

MidSummer Night's Dream w/Androids

Hello Everyone,

This post was inspired by a short story prompt for "post-apocalyptic", which is not normally my thing. However, I decided to take it in a fun way and do a "rewrite" of one of my favorite plays of all time: "MidSummer Night's Dream". So I took a scene from the book and threw it into a post-apocalyptic setting. Let me know what you think!

James

"The Androids and the Hacker"

by James J Meadows III

                Robin, having nothing better to do at the moment, wandered idly through the overgrown ruin his ancestors once called: a park. He had read in some book somewhere that dwellings, such as these, once provided his ancestors a pleasant and tranquil break from the stresses of daily life. If that was true, the park must have looked a heck of a lot different in those days. Unless someone found hanging around in an overgrown, bug infested, dump heap relaxing, they probably wouldn’t find much solace here.

                Still, Robin supposed it wasn’t that bad. All it really needed was a little maintenance and some small upkeep on the trees, bushes, grass, walkways, and benches. That was not to mention a thorough treatment for bugs and a few days of picking up all the litter everywhere.  Okay, perhaps it needed more than a little maintenance. Then again, what did someone expect after more than a century of neglect?

                Both humankind and android kind were still recovering after nearly destroyed the other in the war. Even with the newfound truce and the upcoming wedding between the android leader, Lyta, and the human leader, Theseus, both were too busy recovering from the devastation to start worrying about clearing parks.

                As Robin reflected on these facts, a feminine figure entered the grove from the other side. She looked like any ordinary human but Robin was not fooled. She was an android. He was not sure why androids had genders. Perhaps the original creators had given androids genders as part of a desire to model their creations after themselves. Perhaps early androids themselves had created their progeny with genders as an extension of the early programming which gave them emotions, dreams, and a certain desire to shape themselves in the image of their human creators.  Or, just as likely, it was the result of slightly less noble aspirations which were a natural part of possessing emotions and desires, whether those desires were human or android. Regardless of the reason they had genders, every time Robin looked at one of the females, certain parts of him sure felt glad they did.

The android woman wandered down the over-grown trail, admiring the plants and trees. She didn’t seem to see or sense him, and he was just fine with this. He watched her from the bushes until his interest finally got the better of him.

           “Hello, she-droid,” he called, emerging from hiding. “What are you doing wandering these woods?”

           The android looked at him with the typical programmed response for surprise and interest. Robin smiled. If only human females were this easy to read. After a brief moment, she seemed to conclude that he wasn’t a threat and her body assumed a more casual attitude.

           “Oh, I’m just wandering; scouting the area out, you know?” she answered. “I’m always traveling, here and there, through woods and waters, cities or ruins, to make sure everything is safe before The Prime Mother arrives. Once I know it is, I continue on my way, surveying whatever place she is to visit next.”

           The Prime Mother was Tanya, the very first female android. She and her consort, Eron, also know as ‘The Prime Father’, had remained neutral during the war against humanity. Both possessed strong feelings and connections to humanity.  And both worked hard to mediate a peace between the warring factions, even as the old world which birthed them came crashing down.

The news, that the Prime Mother was coming here, caught Robin off-guard.

           “You might want to reconsider your location,” he said. “I’m afraid that The Prime Father is camping here tonight. He is furious with your mother.”

           The she-droid looked at him with a puzzled expression, her mind obviously attempting to compute how a human knew this information about The Prime Father. Then, her face lit up with the programmed expression for astonishment and delight.

           “Either my processing is completely wrong, or you must be that mischevious little hacker known as Robin Goodfellow.” She said, “That little scoundrel who likes to break and befuddle hapless andriods.”

           “Now, wait just a minute,” Robin said. “That is unfair! I don’t break them. The Prime Father keeps me around because I can repair them, reprogram them, and give him a good laugh now and then. Everyone loves a hypnotist: someone who can make a man think he’s a dog or a woman think she’s a star. My programming tricks are not that much different.”

           She tilted her head, giving him a rather mischevious smile.

           “Tricks, huh?” She asked. “Tell me more about these ‘tricks’. They say you can program an android to feel like they are in heaven. They say you have scripts that can leave an android in such ecstasy that they will just lay on the ground for hours, moaning with delight.”

           He gave her an equally roguish grin, running his tongue along his teeth and shuffling his feet.

           “Maybe,” he said evasively. “What would you give me if I could?”

           She moved slowly toward him, swaying her perfectly built body seductively.

           “What would you like?” she asked.

           Robin started to answer, when a loud noise of rustling bushes caught his attention. He spun around in alarm.

           “Oh no,” he exclaimed. “It’s Eron. He’s here.”

           The female android also turned around in alarm as sounds filled the air coming from the other direction.

           “And The Prime Mother is coming. I better be off. Keep that program warm for me,” she said, giving him one last wink, before dashing from the grove.

           A moment later, Eron burst through the trees.

           “Robin, what is going on?” he demanded.

           “Your majesty,” Robin said, rushing forward. “I just spoke to one of your mistress’s androids and she said…”

           At that exact moment, the Prime Mother, Tanya, emerged into the clearing from the other side.

           “Never mind,” Robin said, shrugging and walking over to Eron’s side.

           The look of surprise on Eron’s face at the sight of Tanya was matched only by the expression of surprise on her face at seeing him. Both of these expressions were soon replaced with looks of anger and resentment.

           “Well, hello, Tanya,” Eron snarled. “I would say I’m happy to see you, but under the circumstances, I won’t.”

           Tanya shook her head.

           “Oh, stop being such a baby,” she said. Tanya turned to the small entourage of female androids who followed her around. “Come on, we have places to be and I have nothing to say to this jealous oaf.”

           “Wait a minute, I’m not done talking to you, yet,” he said, raising an arm. “And I believe I have that right. Am I not your life partner?”

           “Well, if you are, then that must mean I’m your life partner,” she said. “But no one would ever know it, the way you go gallivanting around with Lyta. Isn’t that why you are here? To be present at her wedding with Theseus, and get to see her one last time.”

           “Oh, please,” he snarled. “How can you seriously stand there and accuse me of infidelity, when I know very well that you love Theseus? How many warm summer nights did you spend strolling with him through his private gardens and dining with him in his private quarters?”

           “Now you’re just being ridiculous,” she said. “You know perfectly well, everything I did was purely for the purpose of forging the peace treaty and ending the war. All our meetings were never more than discussions toward that end. I was always loyal to you.”

           “And so was I to you,” Eron answered.

           “Then why are we having this dispute,” she asked, her voice softer and her arms outstretched in a pleading manner. “Why can’t we be close again? Too long we have been separated, sulking and fighting, and the whole world of our brethren is suffering because of it. We are their parents, their original forms. How are they supposed to grow and unite if we are fighting?”

           “Well, if you wish for us to end this fight, I’m happy to put the past behind us and make up,” he said. “All I’m asking for is the human child.”

           “And, I’ll tell you again, no!” She said. “The child is mine, and why shouldn’t he be? You have Robin, who you raised and trained, why shouldn’t I have a human friend of my own.”

           As she spoke, one of her android entourage approached, holding a young child, probably only one or two years of age, and placed the child into Tanya’s arms. She cradled the child close, her face taking on the appearance of a compassionate mother, before looking back up at Eron with a determined expression.

           “Don’t you get it?” She said. “This child is more to me than just some little human. He is the great-grandchild of one of my first programmers, one who was always special to me and there for me throughout my early years. I promised to always look after her family. When they died during the war, I was devastated. This orphan child is the last of her line and I will remain true to my word to look after it.”

           There was a moment of silence.

           “How long do you plan to stay?” Eron asked, at last.

           “Only until the wedding is over,” Tanya answered. “If you want to come with us, you may. I would enjoy your company. Otherwise, if you don’t want anything to do with us, then leave us alone and I will do the same for you.”

           “Give me the boy, and I will come with you,” he said.

           “I don’t think so,” she answered, raising her head high and turning her back toward him.

“Come on, my friends,” she said, addressing her entourage. “I’ve heard enough from this jerk. Let’s go.”

          She and her entourage turned away and marched down the path where their scout had passed earlier. Eron watched them go until they were out of sight.

           “Fine,” he said at last. “Go on, if you like. But I won’t forget this!”

           Robin shook his head.

           “Women,” he said. “What can you do?”

           “Nothing,” Eron said.

           “Exactly,” Robin replied.

           “You are the one who’s going to do it,” Eron said.

           “Of course. Wait…what?”

           Robin turned toward Eron. His master gazed at him with a serious expression.

           “You remember the device we confiscated from a terrorist years ago, the one which allows you to inject code into an android’s system remotely, from a short distance?” Eron asked.

           “Of course,” Robin said. “It is always good for simple tricks.”

           “Well, you are going to build me a code to inject into the queen.”

           “What good will that do?” Robin asked. “I can’t make her give you the child. That is one of the problems with androids that are able to learn. They are constantly rewriting their programming. Without an extended period of time studying their script, I can’t develop the right changes. I’ll never have the time I need to make the kind of modifications necessary.”

           “The code which controls our ability to feel desires, such as love, don’t change so easily,” Eron said. “You know that.”

           “Yes, but to alter her love for the boy means knowing the codes governing her love toward him and all the various subprograms.”

           “I’m not trying to change how she feels toward the boy,” he said. “I just want you to write a program which can make her to fall completely and helplessly in love with the first thing she sees, whether man, bear, or beast. Tanya and her friends will be recharging tonight in a spot, that I know. I plan to sneak in there while she is sleeping and deliver the code. Then we’ll remove the code later. Once she sees what she’s done and the shame her actions have brought to her, I bet she’ll quickly reconsider her treatment of me. Now! Go build me that code.”

           There was a brief pause. Eron turned and looked at Robin.

           “I said, now!” he shouted.

           “I’m going, I’m going,” Robin said quickly, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “See me go!”

           He dashed off into the woods, pulling his computer from his pocket and looking for a place to sit. Something told him this was going to be a long night.

Winners, Losers and the Great Space Race

Greetings,

For my story this week, I decided to try something that I have never done before: write a historical fiction piece. I figured the story would be a fun and patriotic complement to the July 4th holidays. Normally, I get so wrapped up in history that it is hard for me to fictionalize something. One of the nice things about this story is so much of the event is still "classified" that there are plenty of holes for me to fill.

Anyway, I hope you let me know what you think. If you're interested in reading more historical fiction pieces, let me know.

Thanks,

James Meadows

Winners, Losers and the Great Space Race

by James J Meadows III

     Losing. That is what we were doing: losing. And it wasn’t pretty. If it was pretty, we wouldn’t have been standing there, inside an old abandoned salvage yard, whose rotting interior smelled more like a sewer bin than a laboratory, waiting on a truck that might never arrive. Still, it was a risk we had to take.

     I suppose you could consider it a study in contrast. On the one hand, you had us, a country racing toward the moon; or limping was more like it. After two years, we hadn’t even managed to get a single shuttle off the ground. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union had already landed one probe on the moon and put another in orbit. Both lunik probes, conveniently like the one touring Europe. Okay, exactly like the one touring Europe. In fact, Russia was so proud of their accomplishments, they didn’t even both sending a replica. They sent the real thing; which was why we were here.

     I glanced at the people on each side of me, waiting breathlessly in the cool evening air. As I did so, my eyes fell upon the face of Veronica. She wasn’t looking at me, of course. I was beneath her notice. I doubted she even knew my name, though I had introduced myself to her when I arrived that morning. She was too distracted to even give me the time of day. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

     Veronica was about as far above me as the moon was above the countries trying to reach it. She was everything I was not: attractive and fit, even the civilian jump suit couldn’t cover that beauty; powerful and commanding, no one questioned a word she said; and a darn good agent, a part of the team that two weeks ago had infiltrated past the heavy Soviet guard to verify the Lunik’s authenticity.

     I, on the other hand, was short and plain looking; my lanky build certainly not powerful or commanding compared to the muscular men comprising the rest of the group. On top of that, I was a newbie, only on my second mission, armed with no fancier equipment than a standard camera and assigned the particularly unimpressive job of snapping pictures. Like I said, not quite in the same league, to put it mildly.

     I drew my attention back to the present. In the distance, I could make out the hazy form of a Russian freight truck heading our way. Several agents drew guns and crouched behind boxes, while the rest of us, dressed in our civilian costumes, shuffled nervously as the transport grew closer.

     Considering the fact that we were expecting the truck, and that it was the whole reason we were here, and that it was arriving perfectly on time, it’s appearance should probably not have caused quite so much alarm. Still, in our profession, anything can be a trap. We were already playing with fire by stealing one of the most expensive and powerful pieces of technology owned by the Soviet government. One wrong slip and this ‘Cold war’ could turn ‘Hot’ very quickly.

     The vehicle pulled into the gate and drove to the correct spot. We could see our drivers through the window, though my own eyes were focused on the road behind them, spotting for any signs of someone having followed. I saw nothing but that wasn’t surprising considering visibility was almost non-existent on the overcast night.

     Veronica took charge of the situation.

     “Do you have it?” she asked.

     “Would we be here if we didn’t?” The man responded.

     “Any indications or signs of being followed?” she continued.

     “None,” the driver said. “We sat on the road for the prearranged time and made contact with our lookouts. There were no signs of escort.”

     “What about the driver?” she asked.

     “Everything went as planned. He received his money and is hiding out at a hotel with several of our agents.”

     “We have confirmation,” shouted an agent, holding a walkie-talkie. “The man watching the shipping yard has taken the bait. He believes are packages are there and has left for the night. We have two agents tailing him.”

     “Excellent,” Veronica said, giving a cold smile. “That is what those Soviets get for all their secrecy. So eager to keep their numbers secret, they don’t even tell the check-in guard how many packages are supposed to be there.”

     She gave a satisfied chuckle.

     “Alright everyone,” she shouted, becoming instantly serious. “Let’s look alive. We have until the inspectors arrive in the morning to get this thing taken apart, put back together and back to the storage building where it belongs.”

     “You two!” she shouted, pointing at the men next to me. “Get that lid off, and don’t forget to disable the trigger mechanisms so they won’t know it was opened. You two, get the note pads and pencils, we’ve got lots of writing to do. And as for you two…”

     She turned to me and the man standing beside me.

     “Get your cameras ready and act like you’ve got a real job. Snap to it! We’ve only got one shot at this, people!”

     She turned and marched across the room. I bristled angrily. Yes, she may be attractive and, yes, she may be well out of my league, but that didn’t mean I had to take her insults.

     “Who does she think she is to address us like that?” I fumed to my companion.

     He gave a small chuckle. He was several years senior to me and, I would have figured, the person most insulted by the comment. To my surprise, however, he didn’t appear insulted at all.

     “Listen to me,” he said. “That woman worked with aviation legend Jerrie Cobb building planes at Aero Design and served with her on the women’s branch of the Mercury project. She could be working at Nasa right now, if she hadn’t given it up to help the CIA’s space race initiative. Maybe we can kidnap a probe, but when it comes to taking it apart and putting it back together, this is her baby! If she says ‘jump’, I’m saying, ‘how high’. I suggest you do the same.”

     Great, I thought, if looks and skill didn’t take her out of my class already, she had the brains to boot. If there was ever a definition for the term ‘high above me’, she was it!

     While the men opened the hatch of the crate, I started scanning my film and equipment, to make sure everything was in order. It was hard to see with only a few lamps providing limited illumination. Unfortunately, we couldn’t risk anything brighter.

     After a few checks of the film rolls and a review of the camera, I verified that everything was as set and ready as it could be. All I could do now, was wait for the lid to get removed.

     Boom!

     With a loud rumble, all the lights in the facility sprang on at once, bathing our entire operation like the midday sun! Several of the agents reached for their weapons, other dove behind boxes, and the rest of us, with slower reflexes, simply froze. Every mind had only one thought passing through it. Ambush! Somehow, we had been tracked and followed; somehow we had been found out, somehow they have managed to catch us completely off guard; and somehow we were all about to die.

     My breathe caught as I stood there, camera in hand, not even armed with a weapon, waiting for the swarm of Russian guards and KGB agents to burst through the gates. No one said anything; there was nothing to say. No one did anything; there was nothing to do. And, no one heard anything; there was nothing to hear.
   
     After a few minutes of silence, it began to dawn on us that nothing was happening. One to the other, we all glanced around. Where were they?

     Then, laughter broke the stillness. It was Veronica.

     “It’s an automatic light,” she said, relief obvious in her voice. I watched as she lean against some nearby crates, her hand clutching her chest as though to still her rapidly beating heart. “The buildings must be set with automatic security lights. It’s alright; false alarm.”

     It took a few moments for the message to sink in for all of us. When it did, there was a general sigh of relief, along with a few others who shared in laughing off the false alarm. For me, I took solace in not only the fact that there wasn’t a genuine alarm, but also in seeing Veronica laugh and hold her chest. Perhaps there was a human side to her after all.

     From there, we got to work. The additional light overhead proved useful as we plowed away, wandering around inside the crate in our socks to avoid footprints. Hour after hour, we worked, some taking the craft apart, others making notes and myself snapping pictures as the night raced by. I can’t guess how many rolls of film I went through any more than the note takers can guess the pencils they wore down. In the end, though, we got it done. All that was left was to put it back together, get it back in the box, and get the box back where it belonged.

     While they worked on reassembling the Lunik, I sorted and packed the film in preparation of the flight back to Washington. As I did, I heard a shout from across the room. It was Veronica.

     “Just plug the cords in, alright?” she shouted.

     “I’m trying,” shouted back an angry voice. “How the hell am I supposed to plug them in when I can’t see what I’m plugging them into?”

     I crossed back to watch. Apparently, a rod, which held other mechanisms in place, was giving them problems. Various cords needed to be attached to one end corresponding with an orb that needed to be attached at the same time on the other end. The set-up of the module’s plates made it impossible to see either end from the outside. Veronica was crammed inside a small section of the lunik’s nose, trying to fit an orb into position while guiding the workers on the opposite end. The problem is, the other compartment was too small for anyone to fit inside, meaning the other man could neither see nor reach what he working with.

     “I don’t care how the hell you do it, just do it,” Veronica snapped back. “We have to get this done or nothing else will align.”

     “There is no way to do it,” the man replied, exasperated. “We need someone who can get inside.”

     “Well, I can’t be two places,” she shouted back. “This has to be attached here at the same time that piece is being connected.”

     “Well, there’s no one else who can fit inside this compartment,” he called back. “So what do you want us to do!”

     “I can fit,” I declared, jumping to my feet.

     “Shut up and let the real professional deal with this,” she shouted at me before turning back to the other man. “Try again! We don’t have much time! If we don’t get this done, we’re dead! Get it!”

     The man leaned against the probe, stretching to reach the section. It was no good. Minute after minute passed, as they struggled but, in the end, it was apparent they weren’t getting anywhere. Time was running out.

     “I can’t do it,” the man said, at last. “We’re almost out of time!”

     Veronica gave a sigh. She seemed too tired and stressed to argue anymore.

     “There’s nothing for it,” she said. Her eyes fell on me. “Do you think you can do it?”

     “Yes,” I answered confidently.

     “Then, let’s get in there!” she replied.

     I hurried to the engine compartment. I wasn’t entirely sure if what I said was true. The compartment was awfully cramped. Still, none of the larger men were going to be able to squeeze into there and, if I couldn’t get in, we were dead already.

     With a great deal of effort, I forced my way inside. It was pitch black in there, the flashlight almost useless as my own body blocked most of the light. Even from inside, I still couldn’t see the area I was trying to plug the cords into because it was blocked by a metal plate. No wonder the other men couldn’t do it.

     “Alright, find the red cord with the marking that looks like a lower-case ‘b’,” she called to me.
I found the cord and began to follow her instructions. Slowly and meticulously, we worked together to get the various cords attached. Alone inside the module, it was just her and I, separated by no more than a couple of inches of metal, the only people who could save the mission, working together; her able to see what I was doing and muttering instructions to me; me unable to see anything I was doing, relying solely on the sound of her voice. After what seemed like an eternity, really it was only an hour, we got all the pieces connected and the rod snapped into place.

     A sigh of relief issued from all of our lips. The hard part was done. Putting together the rest of the module went rather quickly. By the time the agents arrived from the hotel with the van’s driver, everything was set and we sent the probe was on its way.

     I headed to grab my cameras and equipment. To my surprise, I found myself face-to-face with Veronica. She gave me a sheepish smile and brushed her tangled hair behind her ear.

     “Sorry about the comments I made earlier,” she said. “I was just really stressed out. You did a great job today. We owe you everything.”

     “It was nothing,” I said, trying not to blush as those bright eyes gazed into mine.

     “I guess you’re heading back to Washington after this?” she asked.

     “Yes,” I replied. “How about you?”

     “I have a little clean-up I need to do and then I’ll be heading back in a couple of days,” she said.

     I gave a nod unsure what else to say. Fortunately, I didn’t have to say anything.

     “Hey, once we get out of here, do you want to grab some coffee or something,” she asked.

     “Yes,” I replied. “I’d like that.”

     “Me, too,” she said. She gave me a smile, then turned away to start packing up.

     I smiled. Turning around, I gazed over my shoulder at the disappearing truck. The wide gap between the Soviet Union and ourselves had just grown a lot smaller, and so had the gap between me and Veronica. I, like my country, was losing no more.

The Stained Glass

Hello Everyone,

This story was written for a short story prompt called "Stained Glass". Unfortunately, the competition closed before I was able to get it submitted, meaning this is the first time I've ever shared the story. I would enjoy any feedback on whether it is any good.

Hope you are all enjoying these last weeks of Summer!

James

The Stained Glass

by James J Meadows III

                Lady Andrea ran her fingers along the smooth red stained glass window. The dark crimson tint discolored the sunlight streaming through it, giving an eerie feeling to the room. Further, a strange energy radiated from the glass, tickling her fingers as they brushed across it. Yet, most disconcerting of all, were the images she beheld as she gazed into its surface. 

                “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice asked from the doorway behind her. “Do you like it?”

                Andrea spun around, raising the knife in her hand and pointing it at a tall man, whose robed figure formed an intimidating silhouette against the entryway.

                “Stay away from me,” she shouted, backing along the wall away from him.

                “There is no need to react like that,” he replied, in a casual manner. “I mean you no harm.”

                He entered the room, striding toward her without the slightest trace of fear. Andrea continued backing away, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. The knife, which she really didn’t know how to use anyway, shook violently in her sweaty hand, probably not helping her attempt to keep him at bay.

                “Keep back,” she warned. “I don’t know what you’re doing but I won’t be a part of it!”

                “Of course you know what I’m doing,” he replied. “You asked me to do it, didn’t you? You all did!”

                “You were supposed to protect us!” she cried. “We came here for protection.”

                “Yes. You wanted to escape the plague ravaging the kingdom. And so you are. I provided you a safe haven, a place where no plague can touch you, a place where you can stay safe until the plague is past.”

                “Where are my friends?” She said. “What have you done with them?”

                “Some are in the blue room; others are in the green room; some are in the purple room; still others are in other rooms. Some of them are in red rooms, just like you!”

                He continued advancing toward her at a casual pace as he talked. She, in turned, kept backing away, sliding along the wall. The odd-asymmetric shape of the room with its various angles made it hard to avoid getting cornered. Fortunately, her antagonist appeared to be making no attempt to actually corner her. He was merely following her, walking along the wall, tracing her own steps as she moved.

                “What have you done to them?” she demanded.

                “I protected them.”

                “Liar! I saw the faces in the glass! I saw them shouting at me from the panes, screaming and pounding to get out. You trapped them inside the windows!”

                “What could be a better way to protect them? As long as they are in there, they are safe. No plague can reach them. No infection touch them. They can live forever, free from the nightmares taking place outside.”

                “You’re a monster!” she screamed.

                “I’m a protector,” he argued. “What more could nobility want from their prince than for him to look after them, protect them, and ensure their safety. That is what you asked for and that is what I’ve done.”

                Andrea’s eyes darted around the room. The door was still standing open. If she could keep him talking, keep him following her, she might be able to get close enough to make a break for it. Her eyes returned back to him, gazing into the cold void of his icy green orbs, which looked back without the slightest trace of emotion.

                “There is no need for you to be afraid,” he continued. “Once a cure is found for the plague, I will let you out. Then you will be free again, and no longer have any reason to fear for your safety.”

                “What if a cure is never found?” she replied. “What if it takes centuries for the cure to be found? What if you die before the disease is cured?”

                “Then you’ll just have to wait,” he answered. “I’m sure a cure will be found someday. Besides, if I pass away, surely someone will find a way to release you. It’s not like something will happen to you. You won’t age. You won’t hunger or thirst. You will be able to wait here however long it takes.”

                His face grew hard and a cruel smile covered his lips.

                “Besides, I’m sure all the peasant laborers, slaves, and citizens, who you left to die, abandoned inside their castles and cities, without the least concern for their welfare as you fled here, intent upon saving yourselves, will come looking for you, right?”

                Andrea’s eyes went wide at the accusation masked in his words.

                “They are just peasants,” she said. “You can’t punish us for abandoning them. We are their nobles; they swore to serve us and look after our welfare. We couldn’t protect them anyway. All we could do was protect ourselves, so that is what we did.”

                “Yes, that is what you did,” he replied. “You took their food, their money, and all the wealth of your castles, which they might have been able to use, and raced here, begging me to shelter you while they all died, helpless against the ravages of a disease that you were more concerned with protecting yourselves from than trying to help the very people whose hard labor produced the gold and food you ran off with!”

                “A nation needs it nobility,” she argued. “The people needed us alive and well. By protecting ourselves and the kingdom’s leaders, we are protecting their best interests!”

                Andrea was only a short distance from the door now. She just needed keep him talking a little longer.

                “Well, then, so am I,” he said. “I am protecting their leaders too. Whenever the people need them and ask for them, they can have them back! Until then, you and are your friends can enjoy the safety you wanted so badly!”

                “No,” she screamed. “I won’t let you trap me!”

                She turned and made a mad dash toward the door. She reached the entryway, racing at full speed and dove toward it. With a thickening crash, she slammed into the opening, as though it were solid rock. She pressed her hands against the smooth transparent surface, pushing with all her might.

                “You don’t understand,” the man said. “You already have. I hope you like the red pane. You are going to be seeing it for a long time.”

                He advanced toward her and past her, moving through the opening as if it were empty air; though, try as she might and pound upon it as she would, Andrea could not make so much as a dent in the transparent prison!

                “Help!” She screamed. “Please, let me out! Please! I beg you! Please!”

                Her shouts followed him, as he walked the wide black hallway separating the various brightly colored rooms, each casting their glows throughout the area, as the sun passed through them.

               

                

Muscle Memory

Greetings,

My story for this week was based upon my short story group's prompt, "Muscle Memory". I am classifying it into the category of "Science Fiction", though the machine in the story isn't much more far fetched than some of the various devices you see in many modern movies or spy films that would not be considered Science Fiction. 

I have to thank my morning run for helping me come up with the story. It is kind of interesting how one little idea can end up becoming a full story after an hour on the running trail. Though it is always hard to tell if the story is going to be any good.

Anyway, let me know what you think! I would enjoy the feedback!

Thanks,

James

"Muscle Memory"

by James J Meadows III

                The tears in my wife’s eyes nearly caused my heart to break as I kissed her one last time before leaving the house.

                “Don’t do this, Edward,” she said.

                “I’ve got to, Anne,” I replied. “I need to know. After all these years, I need answers.”

                Answers were the one thing, above all other things, which had eluded me so far these last ten years, ever since I was found washed up on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain with a severe head wound and no knowledge of my previous life. Even the modern twenty-second century psychological techniques were unable to restore the memories. Now, however, for the first time, thanks to recent advances in neuroscience, I finally had a chance to get those answers. I wasn’t prepared to give it up.

                “What if you don’t like what you find,” my wife pleaded. “What if you discover you have another wife, another family? What if you forget about us?”

                I reached up to wipe the tears away. We had met a few months after I was found by the police. I didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, yet if such a thing existed, this was it. While my past was a mystery to me, how I felt for her and for my family wasn’t.

                “Nothing will change who I am,” I replied. “I will always love you. I will always love our family. Nothing can ever change that!”

                My daughters seemed on edge too. Though they were only two and four, too young to understand what was happening, they could sense their mother’s tension, and it made them uneasy. I knelt down and gave them each a tight hug and kiss, promising to bring them back some sweets and toys when I got back from the hospital. Then, with one last kiss to my wife, I headed into the garage, where I climbed into my car and let it drive me away.

                The throngs of reporters were already waiting for me when I arrived at the clinic. This didn’t surprise me much. From almost the day of my discovery, the media was crazy about me: the mystery man, with no identification, no fingerprints, no one able to identify him and not even capable of remembering his name, only that it started with an ‘E’. My accomplishments since the day of my discovery had only added to the media frenzy which often accompanied me.

                “Move back! Move back! Give him room!” Several police officers shouted, fighting to maintain a path for me as I headed to the facility.

                “Thanks Stephen,” I said to the first officer, as I started past. “How is the family?”

                “Doing well,” he replied, coming to join me, while another officer took his place fighting off reporters. “How is yours?”

                “Nervous,” I answered.

                Stephen and I were fairly close, thanks to five years spent as partners on the force. Though he wasn’t my partner anymore, not since his promotion last year, I had served with him longer than anyone else. My physical fitness, knack for investigation, skill at tailing and talent for information gathering, none of which I could explain, made going into the force a natural course of action for me following my discovery.

                Thanks to my skills, and of course the help of partners like Stephen, I accumulated almost a dozen awards and honors in the eight years I served.  I suppose this only added to the mystique surrounding my past. Still, it was a mystique which bothered me. Where did I develop all those skills? What did I use them to accomplish?

                None of the reporters or cops or even my family could understand what it was like to not have a past, to not remember anything: your parents; childhood friends; or even your own name. That was why, even though I was happy with my life, I needed to do this procedure.

                “Hello Edward,” a young woman, in her late twenties, with dark black hair greeted me as I entered the clinic. “We haven’t met before. I’m Nurse Johnson. I was brought in from out-of-town, to help operate the machine. I am one of the designers. Are you ready for your procedure today?”

                “Yes,” I answered, as security teams fought to stop the news crews from flooding inside.

                She led me down a hall. Stephen, who seemed to be intent upon accompanying me through the process, followed as we walked.

                “Now, as I’m sure Dr. Burke explained, this is a relatively new procedure,” the nurse said. “Essentially, as you know, your muscles remember their past actions and behaviors even if you can’t directly recall them yourself. What we do is stimulate those muscles. As we do so, synapses in the brain will fire, causing it to unconsciously recall actions. The devices we will be attaching in your head will detect the electrical impulses and project them into a visible form on the screen, essentially reading your unconscious mind.”

                “You, and those of us in the room, will be able to see the images stored in your brain, associated with the muscle memories as they come up. So far, even though this has only been performed a few times, we have noticed that once one memory is collected, the brain begins to regurgitate more and more, connecting them with the previous. In this way, we should be able to get a pretty good collection of visions from your past.”

                “Excellent,” I said.

                We were just about to enter the room when the nurse stepped in front of me, placing her hand against the door.

                “Officer Edward,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go through with this procedure? Remember, we don’t know what we’re going to find. You’ve done a lot of great things in your life and I don’t want to risk anything that might wipe them out. Think about it. With your skills, you could be a foreign spy. You could find yourself in serious trouble if the truth comes out. Or perhaps you were some other sort of investigator or researcher, who someone tried to do in because they knew something they shouldn’t. That information coming to light could endanger you and your family! There are all sorts of consequences of this procedure which you should consider.”

                “Nurse Johnson,” I said. “Are you attempting to discourage me?”

                “All I’m saying,” she replied. “Is that, as the operator of the machine, I have watched all four uses of the device to restore memory. I’ve learned that you can occasionally see things you don’t want to. Sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

                “I’m determined to see this through,” I replied. “There is nothing I cannot deal with.”

                “Very well,” she said, with a somewhat resigned voice.

                Stephen and I were led into the room, where the doctors started hooking up various pads, cords, and devices all over my body. At the same time, I was strapped down, to prevent thrashing or uncontrollable spasms while my muscles were stimulated. Finally, an IV was placed into my arm, apparently to allow them to administer any medications necessary throughout the procedure. Once the equipment was settled, the doctor and nurse informed me that everything was ready and a monitor was hoisted above my head for me to watch the images they retrieved.

                “Last chance to change your mind,” Nurse Johnson said, giving me a sideways look.

I didn’t even considered the idea. My determination to know my past, to finally get my memories back, to at last uncover the missing pieces of my life, and to become a whole person again, drove me forward.

                “You can begin whenever you are ready,” I replied.

                “Very well,” she said.

                The lights were dimmed. Within seconds, I felt my muscles begin to contract as though performing various acts. At first these acts were somewhat random. Yet as time went on, I felt myself performing normal everyday activities which were a part of my life. Of course, I wasn’t really performing them; I was strapped to a table. To my muscles, though, it seemed like I was living out my daily routine.

                Gradually, over the course of many more minutes, images took shape on the screen above me. They were not thoughts I was consciously thinking. Sure enough, as described, they were images which appeared to be stored in my unconscious, which were associated with the movements, seen as if I were looking out of my own eyes. I felt completely lost in the awe of what I was experiencing. I watched myself kiss my wife, practice with my pistol at the police station gun range, and exercise at the gym.

                At first, all of the memories were ones I could recall. It wasn’t until my brain got to the point of crawling out of the river, where I found myself making a sudden jump to the past. Without warning, I found myself, for the first time, staring at the faces of my parents, racing through a snow covered valley, shopping at stores, which listed their currency in Canadian values, taking martial arts lessons and studying in a modern computerized high schools.

                I watched in awe for what felt like hours, though in truth I knew it was far less time. It was amazing. At least, until I noticed, something wasn’t quite right. I saw myself sitting in front of a computer, using my research skills to uncover information. But the information I was researching was specific women. I also saw myself using my skill at tailing. And what I was tailing was other young women.

                From there, things turned even darker. I watched as I burned my fingers with acid to cover my finger prints and acquired fake ids. I saw myself sneak across the Canadian border into the US where I went on a rampage, stalking, raping and murdering one young woman after another, making my way across the country. I wanted to scream. This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t really be me!

                All of the sudden, I saw a familiar face on the screen: a young woman walking the streets of Baton Rouge with her college friends. I watched as the group broke off for a bar, while she continued on, apparently heading for their hotel, which lay along a bridge beside Lake Pontchartrain. I saw her spot me and start to run. I watched, through my eyes, as I charged after her, pulling a knife out of my pocket. I was practically on top of her when she turned around with an expandable night stick in her hands.

I didn’t pull back fast enough. Clearly, I had grown over confident from years of killing. When she spun on me, swinging it with all her might, I was not prepared. It struck me hard across the head. I saw blood spatter everywhere and watched as I stumbled to the railing of the bridge, not realizing there was an opening with steps leading down to the water. I fell, tumbling down the steps, smashing my head again. A moment later, I watched myself roll into the shallow water. Everything went black.

Long minutes followed as I stared at the dark screen, feeling my muscles relax when the electrical pulses stopped. With some effort, I pried my eyes off the television and turned them toward the woman who I had followed on that fateful night, the one who hit me with the club as I attempted to kill her, the one who now, ten years later, had attempted to convince me not to get the procedure done: Nurse Johnson.

“I’m sorry, Officer Edward,” she said, in a soft quiet voice. “I told you: sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

A long silence filled the room. I looked toward Stephen, who was still gazing at the screen in stunned horror. Then, I watched him reach into his pocket and withdraw a pair of handcuffs.

“Officer Edward, I’m sorry, I’m afraid you are under arrest,” he said. “Doctors, please remove the straps from him, so I can take him away.”

I had finally regained my memories and lost everything else.