Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (3 page)

“Julian,” he supplies, extending his hand in her direction, a charming smile on his lips.

“Autumn.” She shakes his hand, lingering longer than strictly necessary before letting go. “And this is Felicia.” She gestures at me as though I am no more than an afterthought.

I reach over to shake his hand too, to be polite, but my movement is jerky, and I knock the second menu to the floor.

I bend down to retrieve it at the same time as the waitress. She whisks it away, and as I straighten, Julian’s hand grasps mine. His touch ignites a longing—and a pang of fear—that burns through my veins. I pull away instinctively.

“Hi.” I look up at him through my long hair and then reach up with my hands to smooth it back into place. “Is it possible we’ve met before? Do I know you from somewhere?”

Julian chuckles. “Have you ever been to rural Kansas? The stretch of Highway 54 between Greensburg and Wichita?”

“No.” So he’s from Kansas? He doesn’t look like a farm boy.

Autumn clears her throat and kicks me under the table. “Is one order enough for you, Julian?” Her eyes slide with naked admiration from his face down his imposing frame.

“Just a snack. One order is more than enough.” He’s tapping his foot, drawing my attention to his black Converse.

“We’ll take three orders of California rolls,” Autumn tells the waitress. The waitress nods and stalks off. They’re never very talkative here.

Julian looks us over. “I take it you’re Americans?”

“Our parents work for the U.S. State Department,” I say. “You?”

“I’m taking a year off.” He shifts in his chair and then rises. “We can shove these tables together and get a bit cozier.” He pushes his table until it’s lined up with ours, and then sits back down, satisfied. “Germany is my first stop. I want to explore the world, you know?” he says. “Been trapped way too long in one place.”

“Well, join the State Department, then.” Autumn laughs, a little too loudly. “We’ve been all over. Africa, Asia, South America.”

“See, now that’s impressive. To be so young and to have experienced so much already.” He looks contemplative. “If you died right now, you’d still be so rich.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

Autumn laughs again and places a hand on his arm flirtatiously. “Oh, we’re not ready to kick the bucket yet, Julian. We still have to give you the grand tour of Frankfurt.” She counts out the attractions of Germany’s banking capital. “The Old Opera, the botanical garden, Nidda Park . . .” She pauses. “Well, anyway. There is a lot to see.”

Julian cocks his head and regards us for a long moment.
“I’d be honored to have you two as my guides.”

I shake off my dread and look over at Autumn. She’s stretching like a bloom aching for the sun’s attention. “We’d love to!” she squeals, bouncing in her chair, the color high on her cheeks. She bends over and extracts the feather pen from her bag again, and then offers it to him. “Write down your number for us.”

He waves her pen away. “Actually, maybe we can meet here again tomorrow? Same time? I still need to get a phone.”

“Right, of course.” Autumn reaches down with one hand, takes out her pad, and places it on the table. She opens it up to one of the last pages and starts writing with her garish feathered pen, forming the loops of her name and her mobile phone number with a flourish. She sets down the pen and starts to rip out the page.

“Wait. Can you give me Felicia’s number too?” Julian shrugs, and shuffles in his seat. “You never know. I may not be able to reach you.”

“Uh . . . sure.” She pauses. “Felicia? Is that okay with you?”

I don’t know exactly why, but I don’t want Julian to have my phone number. “Actually, my phone battery died. I have to get a new one,” I lie. “Call Autumn for now.”

Autumn grins. “That’s right! No phone problems here!” She finishes ripping out the page and hands it to Julian. He nods, folds it, and shimmies it into the back pocket of his jeans.

There’s an uncomfortable silence then, broken only by
the waitress returning with our tray of sushi. She places it on the table, and then distributes three tiny plates, one for each of us. I reach for the bottle of soy sauce as she walks away. I am in the middle of pouring when a flapping motion outside attracts my attention.

We all turn toward the window. “Whoa—what was that?” exclaims Autumn.

“Something must have spooked all those pigeons on that old medieval tower out front. I saw them earlier.” Julian looks casually at his watch, and then gets up. “Sorry, ladies,” he says, flashing us an apologetic smile. “Looks like I am going to have to cut our conversation short. Can we meet up tomorrow?”

“But what about your sushi?” Autumn bites her lip. “Can’t you stay to finish it?”

“No, darling. Almost forgot about an appointment.” He reaches into his back pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Autumn jumps to her feet. “We’ll let you get the check next time.”

“Good deal.” He bends down and pecks Autumn on one cheek and then the other. “That is the custom here, right?”

“Right.” Autumn giggles. “On your way to being a native already.”

Julian crosses over to my side of the table, and I get up, too fast, knocking my forehead against his chin. He reaches out his hands to steady me, and I look up at him. He leans over and brushes his lips against the cheek that’s hidden from Autumn’s view. “See you soon,” he whispers into my
ear, and then pulls away abruptly. His promise thrills me as much as it frightens me.

He walks to the door. He pulls it open with one hand and waves to us with the other. And then he’s gone.

“Oh, I’m in love!” Autumn crams a roll into her mouth and chews.

“What about Mr. Bennett?” I ask, settling back into my chair. I use my chopsticks to pick up a roll, but my throat feels dry. I put it back.

“Please!” Autumn slaps the table. “Seriously. You saw Julian. He’s, like, everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” I point out. “Except he’s hot.”

“Extremely hot,” Autumn corrects. “And I’m meeting him again tomorrow!” She scoops up her bag, tosses her notepad into it, and pulls out her cell phone all in one smooth motion.

“Shall we take this to go?” Autumn asks. But she flags down the waitress for a box without waiting for my answer, and begins texting furiously. She’s likely bragging to Nicole and her minions about her new conquest.

I slide the plate of sushi farther away from me and take a deep breath to fight the nausea rising up in my stomach. The feeling of déjà vu threatens to suffocate me.

I pull out of
the memory, and then systematically revisit others from those early days of our acquaintance. There’s the one when Autumn chatted animatedly for hours about
Frankfurt’s history as we guided Julian around Old Town. I hung a couple of steps behind, trying to avoid his pointed looks. And then there’s one from the week after that, when Autumn invited him to go with us to a classmate’s party. She got drunk on white wine and the envious stares of all the girls, and some of the guys, in attendance. And of course, the day we met in Nidda Park for a picnic. Autumn tried to impress Julian by bringing a blanket and a vintage bottle of port, and clenched her teeth when Julian refused both and instead sprawled out on the freshly mown grass. I asked him when he planned to move on to his next adventure. He winked at me and said he was having too much fun with us.

I scroll down to the next Julian memory on my list, my finger hovering over the play button. A high-pitched wail sounds from below me, breaking my concentration. I sit up and peer out of my chamber just in time to see Virginia running up the stairs toward me.

“Come quick! It’s Beckah. She keeps saying she’s dying.”

CHAPTER 3

I FOLLOW VIRGINIA
to Beckah’s memory chamber and have to push through the drones that have gathered there, like rubberneckers at a car wreck. Beckah’s chamber is at ground level, so there are two exits—one at her feet next to the stairs and one from the side, facing into the hive. I bend down and peek in. Though her hands are no longer in her control grooves, Beckah’s hologram screen is still on, blinking like an alarm in a way I’ve never seen before. Beckah’s eyes are squeezed shut, and she’s shaking her head back and forth, mumbling unintelligibly.

“Beckah? Can you hear me?” I caress her forehead, wishing my touch could be a comfort.

“She hasn’t responded to any of us.” Virginia bends
down, her face close to mine as we look Beckah over. “It’s obvious she’s been traumatized by something. Maybe she was accessing the memory of her death?”

It’s unlikely that any of us would willingly revisit our deaths. I know I haven’t. In fact, the details of my death have so faded away over the eons of reliving other memories that the accident is merely the dullest of aches, and I’d like to keep it that way. In any case Beckah has always been especially reticent about what happened to her. She’s not someone who would purposely relive the fire that destroyed the group home her drunk of a mother dumped her at before disappearing from her life forever. If we can’t even talk about our deaths with one another, why would we be brave enough to relive them again all alone?

I shake my head. “Would you access your death? Have you?”

Virginia purses her lips and starts rubbing the back of her neck, a habit she’s developed whenever the subject of death comes up. Probably has a phantom pain from the cheerleading stunt that landed her here. “We’re not talking about me.” She turns back to Beckah. “And, no. I haven’t. I’m pretty damn bored, but not that bored. Yet.”

“Let’s pull her out,” I say. “Grab her under her shoulders, and I’ll get her feet.”

Virginia looks skeptical, but she doesn’t argue. We slide her out, and lay her on the smooth floor.

“You keep trying to get her to talk, and I’ll check out
her console, see if I can figure out what she was accessing,” I say.

Virginia sits down, crosses her legs, and arranges Beckah’s head on her lap. “It’s not going to work, you know. We can only access our own consoles.” We have tried switching chambers numerous times in an attempt to access different memories without having to pay credits for them—to no avail.

“I know. But with all the weird stuff going on lately, maybe the system is changing. It’s worth a try.” I crawl into Beckah’s space and lie down. The screen is still blinking, red then black. I touch my palms to Beckah’s grooves lightly, ready to move away at the first sign of danger. A searing pain shoots through me, like the time I accidentally poured boiling water over my arm. And I’m pulled under.

Peterson, Beckah. Memory #29899

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When I open the cage, the puppy bounds toward me and licks my fingers. I set down a bowl of water and then scratch the wriggly animal on the scruff of his neck, saying a prayer of thanks that Lincoln let me take his shift today. Volunteering at the shelter is the only thing keeping me sane these days.

“Beckah?” Mrs. Gray calls from the front desk. “A lady
brought in three litters of kittens. Can you come help me?”

I nudge the puppy back into his cage and latch the door. As I head out to take care of the new arrivals, I smooth my blazer and brush away a small clump of dog hair.

But suddenly I’m back in my bedroom. The air is thick with smoke as I inch my hand up the door, feeling for the handle. I press my pillowcase over my mouth with my other hand, but it’s not helping much. My breaths are shallow, but still I cough. When I finally find the handle, I snatch my hand away. It’s burning. I have to find another way out. The window. “Help!” I try to scream as I crawl toward the window, but my voice is so weak. My strength is gone, and I crumple to the floor. “I’m dying! I’m dying.”

But this is not
me. I’m Felicia, not Beckah. As real as it feels, this is not my memory. I force my mind to push out of it and enter Beckah’s console. I browse through her saved favorites until I find a memory of Beckah as a five-year-old sitting in the middle of a sunny meadow, plucking wildflowers and arranging them carefully in a basket.

I pull out of her grooves and then sit up to examine my hands. They feel raw and look oddly red. What’s going on? I haven’t been able to feel anything, except in my memories, until now, and pain is not exactly the sensation I’d choose for my first in an eternity.

“Are you okay in there?” asks Virginia.

I scoot out carefully, wincing each time I put weight on my hands. “I did it! I was inside Beckah’s memories.”
Only Virginia and Beckah remain in our common space. The other drones have moved back to their own chambers.

“Really? How?” Virginia looks from me to the semiconscious Beckah and back again. “That’s impossible!”

“I honestly don’t know. I imagined myself controlling her console, and then I was.”

“What are you, some kind of telekinetic hacker prodigy?” Virginia appraises me as if seeing me for the first time.

“Actually . . .” I consider confiding in Virginia, but don’t feel like getting into a bunch of lengthy stories about my shameful past. Not with everything that’s going on. “It’s nothing.” I shrug as nonchalantly as possible.

She raises a nonexistent eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“So anyway, I landed in this memory of her at the animal shelter, but then it, like, switched over to her death memory.” I shudder. “Luckily, I was able to turn it off and go into one of her top tens. Maybe if we put her back in now, reliving it will calm her down.”

“Let’s do it.” Virginia lifts Beckah’s head from her lap and grabs under her shoulders as she raises herself from a sitting position.

I lift Beckah’s legs at the same time Virginia lifts her torso. We stumble a bit, but get her back in and her hands settled into her grooves. She relaxes instantly, a smile forming on her lips.

“Wow. Impressive.” Virginia straightens and nods in appreciation.

I raise my hand for a high five.

“Felicia! What’s wrong with your hands? They’re red!”

I groan. “I know. I burned them in Beckah’s console. In the fire that killed her.”