MirrorWorld

The living room is typical Americana retiree with plaid couches, a collection of Hummel figurines, an unused exercise bike, and a massive flat-screen TV. I pat the recliner with my hand and wait for Cobb to sit in it. While he’s sitting, I head for the kitchen and check the fridge. There’s nothing inside that could spoil in less than a month, but there are four bottles of beer and a stick of pepperoni. After removing two beers and the pepperoni, I search the cabinets until I find a jar of peanut butter. I return to the couch with my booty and hand Cobb a beer. He takes it with a nod, digs out a jackknife from his pocket, and pops the top. He hands the knife to me.

I pop my beer top and then extend the two-inch knife. I rub the blade sideways across my thumb. It’s razor sharp. “You could have slit my throat.”

Cobb takes a swig. “Taking lives isn’t my job.”

I fold the knife back down. His initials are engraved on the side, beneath the white cross. “Was it a gift?”

“From my aunt,” he says.

I hold the potential weapon out to Cobb. He stares at it. “Seriously?”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it before we reached the front gate.”

He takes the jackknife, pockets it, and takes a long drink. When he’s done, he breathes deep and lets out a long sigh. “Are there any more of these?”

“Two.”

“I’m going to need them, I think.”

“They’re all yours.”

Cobb stands, walks to the fridge. While he’s gone, I open the peanut butter and disrobe the pepperoni. On some level, I know this snack is disgusting, but I’m craving protein, salt, and fluids. I dip the pepperoni into the peanut butter, scoop up a thick glob, and take a bite. The supernova of powerful flavors is nearly overwhelming. The food at SafeHaven was mass-produced, preservative-filled, cheap slop. This is a feast in comparison. All that time I was missing the scents of the world, I never realized I also missed flavor.

Cobb returns with his beers while I chew. I can see the revulsion in his face when he looks at my snack, but he doesn’t say anything. Before sitting, he turns on a window-mounted air conditioner.

I tip my head in thanks, chase my food down with a swig of beer, and say, “So, you’ve worked for Neuro for one month?”

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s not a trace of hesitation.

“And before that?”

“I was a paramedic for Portsmouth Regional.”

“Why the switch?”

“There was a fire. I saved a few people. A wild day — less wild than today, though. But it was front-page news, and two days later I got a call. A recruiter for Neuro. He said they wanted people like me, who could handle a crisis if one ever developed. I thought it was strange that a private company would want a paramedic on staff, but he offered double what I was making, and I thought it would be a quieter job.” He forces a grin. “Until today, it was.”

I believe him. He’d be acting squirrelly if he was lying to me. That’s good for him, but bad for me. Some intel would go a long way right now.

“What about you?” he asks. “Were you really … you know?” He twirls his index finger around an ear.

“Yup. SafeHaven. North of Concord.”

“I’ve heard of it. For what?”

“I don’t feel fear,” I say.

“Like at all?”

“Not even a little.”

“So, if I pulled a gun on you?” he asks.

“That would be a bad idea,” I tell him. “But, no.”

Cobb pops open his second beer. “So, no dreams about being naked in public places or late for a college test?”

“I’m … not sure if I dream, but no. And I don’t remember college.”

“Must have had a lot of fun,” Cobb says.

I shake my head. “I don’t remember anything beyond a year.”

“Geez…” Cobb leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What happened a year ago?”

“Hell if I know.”

“So, amnesia then?”

“That’s the diagnosis.”

Cobb scratches his chin. “But you remember some things, right? Like, you can speak English. You can drive — very well, by the way. What else?”

“I know how to hurt people,” I say. “And I’ve played this game. I don’t think you’re going to like where it leads.”

That kills his curiosity. He leans back, wiping dew drops from the beer bottle. “Whoever you were before … that’s not who you are now?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “This isn’t helpful.”

He takes a drink while I turn my thoughts inward. I don’t need to know who I am. Not right now, anyway. But what do I need? To get Shiloh someplace she’ll be cared for. And then what? Go back to Neuro and shut them down. I know I should just run. It’s what most people would do. They have a security force, some kind of black ops team, heavy weapons, and who knows what else. Definitely government-funded. But fleeing requires fear and the ability to look past what is right and wrong. I’m incapable of both.

“You worked at a hospital?” I ask.

“Portsmouth Regional.”

“How far?”

“Forty-minute drive.”

“Still know people there?”

He nods.

“Then that’s where we’re headed.”

“Now?” he asks, surprised.