REMEMBER
by
Michael D. Britton
“Alright, Mrs. Stevens, you may still decide against taking the pill, or you may change your mind and take it later. If you decide not to do this right now, the pill must remain here in secure storage, and must be administered by us,” said Dr. Hugo Jones. “And for us to do that, you would need to get prior authorization from the criminal court judge who tried your case.”
Janet Stevens nodded a shaky nod as she sat in the private room at the Office of Judicial Medicine.
“We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to think about it if you like,” said Jones. “You can –”
“No!” Janet blurted out. “I mean, no. Please don’t leave me alone. And, I’ve already decided. I want it gone.”
The assault she’d suffered had left her with something she didn’t want. Something that would affect the rest of her life. Something that should never have existed. Something that the kindly doctor could get rid of simply and quickly.
A memory.
“Okay, Mrs. Stevens. As we told you before, what we like to call the Forget Pill has been engineered to your brain chemistry, and will remove only the specific memory of the assault itself. All your other memories will be left intact, so it’s a perfectly safe procedure – we’ve provided this therapeutic service for hundreds of victims before. Since the trial is over, and your assailant convicted, there is no more use for that memory.”
“You bet there’s not,” muttered Janet. The recollection of being attacked by Richard James Ellison, the notorious serial rapist, played through her head several times a day, and all night long through her fitful sleep. Putting that monster behind bars required her to relive the experience in detail in the courtroom once again – but now it was finally over, and she could be freed from the past.
“The pill will take one sleep cycle to take effect. That’s typically ninety minutes of sleep, including the REM cycle. Then, when you awake, you will be rid of that painful memory forever,” said Jones. “And there will be no way to retrieve it.”
“Why in the world would I want to do that?”
#
Janet sat alone in her apartment, staring at a photo on the wall. The last photo ever taken of Charles. The two of them stood arm in arm with their backs to the ocean. If only Charles had been alive, he could have protected her – he could have beat Ellison senseless before he even laid a hand on her. But what happened happened, and nothing could change that now. And even though she wouldn’t remember the actual incident, she’d always know that it had happened. The thought made her sick to her stomach.
Her eyes’ focus softened from the photo to her own ghostly reflection in the glass of the photo frame. Now forty years old, her hair was beginning to turn gray. Deep crescents hung below her tired eyes, but the rest of her skin was still smooth and wrinkle-free.
She took a seat in the high-back chair and sipped at a cup of hot chocolate. The ticking clock began to lull her to sleep, when the phone rang. Startled, she jumped up and grabbed the earpiece off the end table before it could ring again, quickly inserting the tiny device in her ear. Her heart pounding, she said, “Hello?”
“Janet Stevens?”
“Yes, who’s this?” She glanced at the clock – it was ten thirty. Late for a call from a stranger.
“My name is Leonard Roth. I represented Richard Ellison in his trial.”
“I know who you are,” said Janet, a bitter taste forming in her mouth. “What do you want – why are you contacting me?”
“I’d rather not discuss this over the phone. However, it is a very important matter. Can you meet me?”
“Now? It’s late, Mr. Roth. Can’t this wait until the morning?”
“That depends. Did you take the Forget Pill?”
#
A bell attached to the top of the glass door clanged as Janet stepped out of the cold October air and into the muggy diner. The air smelled of burned grease – grease that appeared to coat everything in sight.
A tall man in his forties wearing a sharp suit sat alone in a corner booth with his tie loosened. He caught Janet’s eye and discreetly waved her over to join him.
“Mrs. Stevens,” he said, lifting his backside slightly off the booth’s bench in an awkward effort to show respect. He extended his hand. “Leonard Roth.”
Janet stared at his hand for a moment, then sat down and removed her coat. “I shouldn’t even be here talking to you – not without my attorney,” she said, not looking him in the eye.
“You did the right thing by coming,” said Roth. “It’s a matter of the life and death of an innocent man.”
“Ellison -” she choked on the man’s name and swallowed hard, “Ellison is anything but an innocent man. You lost the case. Why don’t you just give up?”
“Because new evidence just came to me in the form of a phone call tonight. Honestly, I believed I was defending a guilty man until a couple of hours ago.”
“And now?”
“Now I think we have a case of mistaken identity.”
A tired-looking woman in a uniform with a stained apron came to the table and Janet ordered a cup of decaf. “You’re saying the man you defended is not Ellison? That’s crazy.”
“His name is Richard James Ellison, but he is not the Seattle Strangler. He’s been set up.”
“Mr. Roth, that is just not possible. I clearly remember that man – the man from the courtroom – attacking me. He has the name and the face of my attacker. Explain that.”
“I received a call tonight from a man who claims to be a neuroscientist. He said that a man paid him a large sum of money to develop a drug – a drug with similar properties to the pill you took this afternoon. But instead of deleting a memory, it implants a false one.”
Janet just stared at Roth.
“The scientist – who called himself Huang – said that after he developed the drug, he had second thoughts and refused to deliver it. The man threatened Huang’s family, so he gave it up to him. I believe that man is the one who assaulted you, and then injected you with a false memory of the attack – a memory of my client attacking you.”
“And how are you supposed to prove this?”
“You need to stay awake long enough for us to figure that out. Once your false memory of the attack is deleted, the evidence will be gone.”
“And if we can’t figure it out?”
“Then the Seattle Strangler will still be on the loose – with a weapon he can use again and again to deflect blame onto others and remain free to hurt more people like you.”
Janet played with her coffee spoon. “All right. Let’s figure this out.” She stared into her mug of bad-tasting decaf. “I guess I’m going to have to start ordering the real stuff.”
#
“How much farther?” asked Janet. The freeway was starting to lull her to sleep.
“Not much. You really need to focus on staying awake, Mrs. Stevens. It’s the next exit, and then another three miles, according to the mapserver.”
“You might as well call me Janet,” she said. “Mind if I roll down the window – it’ll help wake me up.”
“Go for it.”
The rain had stopped, but the wind was still cold as she rolled down the power window in Roth’s sports car. The noise of the wind buffeting through the open window at 95 miles per hour refreshed Janet’s senses and she felt more alert within a few minutes.
Roth pulled off the freeway, drove two miles west, and headed up the hill into a rich-looking neighborhood.
“This is going to be very awkward, Mrs. – uh, Janet,” said Roth. “Huang has no idea we’re coming – he doesn’t know that I tracked him down through a phone number search. And he may not be cooperative. But I’ll get him to talk.”
“How?”
“I’ll offer to represent him for free, and tell him I can get him a good plea bargain.”
“Considering how well you performed for your last client, that may not be much of a bargaining chip, Mr. Roth.”
Roth faked a smile. “Please, call me Leo.”
They pulled up to a spacious home with vast gardens, and got out and rang the door chime. After a few minutes, a light came on, and they heard bolts unlocking. The door opened a few inches, stopped by a short chain. A young Asian man poked his nose out and frowned at the two visitors.
“What you want?”
“To talk to you, Mr. Huang.”
Huang’s eyes widened. “You’re that lawyer! The one from the Ellison trial! I saw you on TV.”
“And you spoke to me a few hours ago.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And who’s she?”
“A friend. Listen, may we come in?”
Huang stared at Janet, and then stared at Roth. He closed the door and undid the chain lock. The door opened, and the silk pajama-clad scientist ushered them in. They sat in his living room in overstuffed leather chairs. Huang brought the lights up on a dimmer to about the halfway point, leaving the room somewhere between dark and light.
“Why you come to my house?”
“We need information. What you said to me earlier – about the memory drug. I need to know more.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have never spoken to you before in my life.”
“Are you certain, Mr. Huang?” said Roth, starting to get confused. Huang seemed to be telling the truth. “It would have been two and a half hours ago – right about ten o’clock.”
“I’m telling you, Mr. Roth, I made no phone calls. I came home from the lab, got in the hot tub, started watching a movie and fell asleep.”
A disturbing thought occurred to Roth. “How long have you been asleep?”
“About two hours, I think. Why?”
“We need to get to your lab. I have a feeling that a urinalysis will detect traces of RBh-11 in your system.”
“The Forget Pill? You think I took the Forget Pill? That’s crazy.”
“I think someone slipped the pill to you without your knowledge. And if your pee-test comes up clean, then you can call me crazy. Until then, it’s very important that we all go to your lab.”
“Why should I go and test myself based on your crazy ideas?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll call the cops, and they’ll get a warrant, and we’ll test you anyway. And your resistance to a test will not look good when this all goes to trial.”
“Trial? For what?”
“A number of conspiracy charges would be my guess.”
Huang stood. “Let me change my clothes.”
#
“RBh-11. I don’t believe it!” said Huang, staring at the computer screen in astonishment. “Who – why?”
“The real Seattle Strangler. Clearly he thought to cover his tracks,” said Roth.
“He must have replaced my medication that I take after dinner each night,” said Huang. “So, what exactly did I tell you on the phone tonight – before I fell asleep and lost my memories?”
“You said you helped a man develop a drug for inducing false memories – custom-made false memories.”
“If I did such a thing, there would be a record of it in my computers. He may have been able to slip me a drug, but he did not have access to my systems. The evidence must be in here somewhere,” he said, frantically typing passwords and digging into files on his computer. “Here. This folder looks unfamiliar to me. It’s called ‘FMN.’ And of course, it is password protected, and I don’t know my own password.”
“FMN?”
“Forget Me Not. That project name seems familiar. But I do not know the password.”
“Think, Huang. What might you have chosen for the password?”
Huang ran through all his usual password choices. Then he ran through keywords that may be related to the associated files. Finally, he cracked it.
“Remember,” he said.
“That’s the password?” said Janet.
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” said Huang.
He opened the file and studied the contents for a few minutes. To anyone else, it would look like gibberish, but to Huang, it was pure genius.
“This is amazing,” he said, his eyes rapidly scanning the data through his thick glasses. “I can’t believe I thought of this. I’m not just a genius, I am an artist! This is incredible!”
“Why don’t you pat yourself on the back later, Huang,” said Roth. “Janet here is getting very tired. We need you to tell us about the false memory that was created for Janet. How was it designed? What truths did it replace? How did it work?”
“Those are all very good questions, Mr. Roth. And I’m not sure I have all the answers.”
“Do you have anything to perk me up?” asked Janet. “I’m really fading here.”
Huang went to his small refrigerator in the lab and brought back an energy drink. “I always have to keep these things on hand,” he said with a smile. “Sometimes I get going on my work and just can’t stop, and end up pulling all-nighters.”
“Ah, to be young again,” said Janet. She slurped at the canned drink.
“Listen,” said Roth, sitting on a lab stool. “What can you tell us about the false memory?”
“It may take some time for me to understand all the coding,” said Huang. “You have to remember, because of the RBh-11, all this is new to me.”
“No, you have to remember, Mr. Huang. This just seems new, but it came from your brain. You designed this drug. And you need to figure it out, fast.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Huang.
#
“Janet. Janet! You need to keep talking,” said Roth.
“Hmm? Okay,” said the bleary-eyed Janet, sitting on a couch at one end of the lab. Her voice slurred as if she were drunk. “The sun is coming up. I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. What do you want me to talk about?”
“Tell me about your husband.”
“Charles? Charles was a good man. Well, he wasn’t a bad man. He went to work every day, came home each night. Treated me alright.”
“You sound underwhelmed,” said Roth.
“Well, marriage just wasn’t the fairy tale I’d dreamed of as a little girl – we’d grown stale over the years, I guess. But nothing to really complain about – until that last business trip.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“He didn’t come back, that’s what happened. His train was hit by a plane. Isn’t that crazy? A stinking commuter aircraft crash landed on the train my husband was riding. Struck the car he was in – killed everybody.”
“Yes, I remember hearing about it on the news last year,” said Roth. “Terrible freak accident. I’m very sorry.”
“Mr. Roth,” Huang called over from his seat at the computer. “I think I may have something.”
Roth and Janet came over.
“I’ve pieced together the data, and it’s starting to make sense. The chemistry of the false memory drug is based on association.”
“Association? Explain.”
“The human brain creates what we call associations when two patterns of neural activity happen at the same time and happen over and over again.”
“Like learning?” asked Roth.
“Sort of, but more on a brain cell level. For instance, if the neural activity caused by a visual image of an ambulance and the activity caused by the sound of a siren occur simultaneously and repetitively, the separate neural chains will create new synaptic connections and become one interconnected network of neurotransmitters. Once the new set of connections between visual and auditory networks is established, simply stimulating one part of the network, like hearing the siren, can activate the visual part, and you’ll automatically visualize an ambulance.”
“Makes sense,” said Roth. “Seems pretty basic. How does it relate to the memory drug?”
“Mr. Roth, association is a very powerful component of how the brain works. Through association, we connect all of our incoming sensory stimuli – sight, sound, touch, and even scent and taste – to create the whole person, place, thing or action. It is the basis of how memory functions. So, I used associative neurons as the basis for the drug. It works by synthesizing components of association to build neural connections about things that did not really occur.”
“So, how do we use my false memory to reconstruct what really happened?” asked Janet, feeling more alert once again.
“First, I’ll need to run some brain scans. You’ll need to remember every detail of the attack while I am measuring your brain waves and sampling the neural activity. Then I’ll need to run an analysis.”
“How will that work?” asked Janet.
“I’ll run the same scans while you think about a preset list of associative stimuli – things common to everyday life, and things specific to your own life and experiences. I will build a library of your neural chains, based on those associations. Then I will compare the results.”
“So, I need to relive it all again?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stevens, it’s the only way.”
“Well, let’s get started. I’m exhausted.”
#
With neural patches attached to her temples and forehead, as well as some painful probes inserted under the base of her skull, Janet was ready for the real pain to start as she began to recall every detail of her assault experience.
Following Huang’s instructions, she immersed herself in the memory, conjuring every minute aspect of the experience – the sights, the sounds, the smells, the very emotions.
Huang read her brain patterns, cataloging all the inter-connected neurotransmissions, tracing the labyrinth of associations while Janet narrated the memory aloud.
“And that’s all I remember,” she finished, short of breath and sweating slightly. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up with my sister standing over me asking me what had happened.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stevens,” said Huang. “I got what I needed. Next we will perform the same measurements as you are exposed to a number of standardized stimuli. There will be sounds, images, and smells, as well as touch sensations – heat, cold, smooth, rough – basic things.”
After the standardized assessment, Huang moved onto the final phase.
“Now I need you to recall things familiar to you. Imagine your home – the way it looks and smells. Picture people close to you – your family, your husband, your friends. Imagine your workplace, the local grocery store, your car. Recall some things that are relatively new to your life, such as your current job, and also think of old memories, like things and people you’ve known since childhood. And please describe each to me as I measure your brain activity.”
Janet did as she was instructed, and finally the monitors and probes were removed.
“Alright,” said Huang. Now I will need to process the data.”
“How long will it take?” asked Roth.
“A couple of hours.”
“Mind if I take a nap while we’re waiting?” asked Janet.
“You should remain awake,” said Huang. “I may require additional data.”
Janet sighed heavily. “Then get me another one of those energy drinks, please.”
#
To keep Janet awake, Roth took her for a stroll around the building in the early morning sunshine. The air was crisp, and their voices hung in little dissipating clouds as they spoke. Most of the trees that surrounded Northwest Research Park had lost their leaves, but a few still clung in vain to the wispy branches.
“So, I’ve told you about Charles,” said Janet. “Are you married, Leo?”
“Not anymore. A long time ago, when I was fresh out of law school, I got married. But after about two years she ran away with the local district attorney. It was quite the little scandal back in Indianapolis. So, I packed up, moved out here to Washington and never looked back.”
“People can be so selfish,” said Janet. They walked a little further before she spoke again. “And nobody ever took her place?”
“Oh, I dated on and off, but I never got serious with anyone. I prefer to just do my job, read, and run marathons.”
“Well, I feel like I’ve run a marathon in the last day and a half,” said Janet. “Only, I’m not trained for it.”
Roth’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Huang,” he said to Janet.
“Mr. Roth, I have pieced together some answers, but I need more data. One thing I know for sure, the real Seattle Strangler is someone Mrs. Stevens knows personally. Someone she has known for a long time.”
“Are you sure?” said Roth.
“Positive. Her reconstructed association datapoints prove it beyond any doubt. If I can just –”
Silence.
“Huang? Mr. Huang, are you there?”
“What is it?” asked Janet.
“The call was dropped,” Roth said in frustration, slipping his cell phone back in his pocket. “We need to get back to the lab. Come on.”
Roth and Janet walked into the large laboratory room. It seemed even quieter than it had earlier. Roth spied the computer at which Huang had been working, but there was nobody there. As he stepped closer, he heard a quiet splattering under his shoes. He looked down at a pool of deep crimson. He followed the still-oozing puddle, and it led to Huang. The scientist’s smashed eyeglasses lay beside his body – his throat sliced from ear to ear.
“Janet, stay back, don’t look!”
“What, what is it?” asked Janet.
“Huang’s dead. We need to leave here, now.”
Roth ran toward the frozen Janet and grabbed her by the hand. “Now!”
Roth tugged at her arm and broke through the shock and fear gripping Janet. She ran hand in hand with him through the lab, and they burst through the lab door into the hallway. Their footfalls echoed down the corridor as they sprinted for the exit.
The door was locked.
“That can’t be! We just came in this way,” said Roth.
They turned and ran back the way they came, then turned down another hallway, heading for a door at the end with an exit sign over it. The door opened into a concrete stairwell that only led up.
“Let’s go back,” said Janet, panting.
“The killer is back there somewhere,” said Roth. “We need to find a way out. This building is on a hill – the second floor opens at ground level at the back. Let’s try to get out there.”
Janet’s weary muscles ached as they climbed the stairs. They finally emerged on the second floor and headed toward the back of the building. As they smashed through the back door, they spotted the killer running to a vehicle, jumping in, and speeding off.
“Did you get a look at him?” asked Roth, quickly catching his breath.
“I couldn’t see his face,” said Janet, still struggling for oxygen. “But – but there was something familiar about him – it was the way he ran. I – I can’t put my finger on it.”
They went back inside to the lab and called the police. Then they tried to dig clues out of what was on Huang’s computer.
“The files have been deleted,” said Roth. “We’re back at square one!”
“Maybe not,” said Janet. She reached down to Huang’s lifeless hand and pulled a small device from his stiffening grip.
“A flash drive – he must have saved his work when he heard someone coming into the lab,” said Roth.
“If we wait around for the cops, we’re going to miss an opportunity to see this data and get this figured out before I pass out,” said Janet.
“You’re right. Let’s take the flash drive back to my place and see what’s on it.”
#
Back at Roth’s condo, Janet sipped on a Shock Cola while Roth booted up the computer. He inserted the flash drive and pulled up Huang’s preliminary conclusions.
“The data shows that the real killer is indeed known to you,” Roth said. “He’s someone you’ve known very well for a number of years. Huang’s notes also indicate that neural systems naturally ‘notice’ novelty and ‘ignore’ what is routine. That’s why the false memory was a good fit for your brain – most of the associations were already in place and could be manipulated without you recognizing that anything was wrong.”
Janet read over Roth’s shoulder. “The brain secures memories by transferring them from short-term to long-term storage, through a process called reconsolidation, that occurs during REM sleep. So, that’s why I was knocked out – the false memory had to be loaded into my brain, just like how the Forget Pill works.”
“It’s also why you are alive today. The Seattle Strangler always kills his victims. He left you alive so that you could testify, and unwittingly assist him in his plan to frame my client.”
“Is there anything else in Huang’s data to suggest how I can get the real memory back?”
“Let me see,” said Roth, scrolling through the information. “Just more of that stuff about association. Based on what Huang said, I would recommend we visit places familiar to you, and that you think about the attacker while we’re there – see if any true associations come to mind.”
“Alright, let’s start at my house.”
They crossed the city to Janet’s home. It was now late morning and the rush-hour traffic had mostly cleared up.
Janet roamed from room to room, seeing her attacker in her mind’s eye, and also recalling the back of the man who ran to the car at the lab. She picked up photo albums and leafed through them, and even smelled various artifacts around the house. She went to the hall closet and pulled out Charles’ old sport jacket and breathed in the smell of the cologne he used to wear.
A flash of a violent image tore through her mind.
She felt her throat constrict.
Hard to breathe.
“No!” she screamed.
Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, as yet another violent image struck her senses. She once again saw Huang’s murderer running to the car. She once again felt like she was pinned to the floor, unable to move, unable to gasp for air.
“It can’t be,” she whispered.
“What – what is it?” asked Roth, stooping to help her up from the floor.
Before he could reach her, his head was pounded by a frying pan. Roth collapsed in a heap beside Janet. Behind him stood Charles Stevens.
The Seattle Strangler.
“You’re dead! Charles, how could you? How – why? Charles!” Tears gushed from Janet’s eyes as she struggled in vain to form sentences too disturbing to utter.
Charles just stood there over Janet, breathing heavily. He dropped the frying pan to the floor. “Why didn’t you just go to sleep? That’s all you had to do!” he snarled.
“Charles – I don’t understand!” she whimpered, as fear and confusion gripped her heart like a vice.
“A man has to have a hobby. Something to relieve stress, you know. But you were starting to get in the way of the things I was doing. But I didn’t want to kill you. And I didn’t want anyone to connect me with my hobby. I had the perfect plan. But you ruined it. Now I have no choice but to -”
Janet reached into the closet and grabbed a shoebox. In it lay the loaded Colt 45 they’d kept there, unused, for years.
She pointed it at her husband.
“You wouldn’t,” said Charles, his deep, gravelly voice betraying no emotion. He took a step toward her.
Janet closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. Just a click. A demented smile turned up one corner of Charles’ mouth as he took another step.
Janet squeezed the trigger again.
BANG
A hole appeared in Charles’ chest as he was lifted off the floor and landed on his back. He didn’t move.
#
Roth sat in the booth of the greasy diner, a small bandage on his head to cover the almost-healed gash. Janet sat across from him sipping some hot cocoa.
“I felt like I could’ve slept for days,” she said. “Of course, I only ended up crashing for twelve hours. I guess you can never really get caught up on lost sleep.”
“No, not really. But you look well-rested.”
“Well as can be, I suppose.”
“I heard you decided to keep the traumatic memory of the shooting.”
“Yes. I’ve had more than enough of memory manipulation. I’ll just keep it, and deal with it. I think it’ll do me good, actually.” She placed her mug on the table and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I heard you got your client released.”
“Well, he was innocent. After your husband recovered sufficiently, he confessed to everything. He had framed Ellison because Ellison’s name had been floated as a suspect in the press. In fact, my client had done nothing more than to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, coincidentally on two separate occasions. The cops just couldn’t resist that much of a coincidence. Neither could your husband.”
“Ex-husband. What’s going to become of Charles, now that he’s been convicted?”
“The DA is pushing for a new form of sentencing. He wants the punishment to fit the crime.”
“Really? What is he proposing?”
“He says his idea would have a rehabilitative effect in addition to being punitive. He wants Charles to be implanted with fabricated memories from all of his victims – so he has to relive the attacks over and over from their points of view. They’re calling it the Huang Method.”
Janet pondered a moment and slowly nodded. “You don’t sound like you’re sold on that idea,” she said, noting Roth’s expression as he rubbed at a healing wound atop his scalp. “Personally, I think that sounds perfect.”
“Well, there’s just one thing I think they left out.”
“What’s that?”
“They have no plans of making him relive my memory of getting smashed in the head with a frying pan.”
For the first time in a long time, Janet Stevens laughed.
THE END
Like mysteries? Find this one, plus five more, in my mystery anthology, ICE MAN.