Scattered Thoughts and Saviors

The shed door creaked open, bringing sunlight into the dank atmosphere. The adolescent girl gulped in the fresh air, crawling towards the light like a moth towards a flame. An inanimate object was thrown into the space and the door slammed shut in the young girl’s dirty face. She kneeled next to the object, running her hands over the contours, searching for the one clue that would bring it’s identity to light. Her delicate fingers traced over a mostly smooth material, it had fine hairs and a few small concavities and was movable to a point before she had pulled it taunt and she had to release it. She was curious, what was this unmovable mass before her? She pressed on, moving her hands faster across the surface. The small digits encountered a rise then fall, then rise again in the exterior of the matter. She ran her grubby hands over it again, feeling it move with her fingers. She pressed her index finger into the valley and felt it part. She pressed harder until she hit a barrier. It had teeth.

She scrambled back, running into the wall of the shed, her breaths breaking the silence in harsh gasps. She had touched a body. A dead body. She held her fingers up in front of her eyes, as if she could see the particles that had transfered from the corpse to her fingertips. Her eyes closed as memories flooded her small frame.

A young girl, of maybe five or six, walked up a small walkway, her dirty hands running over the pink pansies that bordered the cement. Her high-pitched giggles floated through the warm air, drifting into the neighbor’s backyard. Her purple overalls were covered in mud and she dripped water onto the porch as she reached for the doorknob. It swung open and she waltzed in. The black Mary Janes on her feet left wet shoe-prints when she moved towards the living room. She slid her muddy hands across the white walls, giggling when brown smears appeared behind her. When she entered the pale blue room, she stopped, her mind not processing what was before her.

She laid down on the leather couch next to her mother, her mahogany curls haloing her tan face, “Mommy?” she asked, her brows furrowing when her mother didn’t answer. She brushed her mother’s identical curls away from her face, lightly touching her mother’s cheek, “Mother? Wake up. Wake up, Mommy. It’s time to get up. You don’t sleep during the day, silly.” But still, her mother would not stir. Her mother’s skin was paling, changing from her beautiful caramel tone to a flat tan. The young girl fidgeted, her nerves showing through. She brushed her mother’s hair through her small hands, then finding a wet spot behind her head. She withdrew her hand, finding her fingertips a bright crimson. She gasped, horrified and backed off the couch. This was the same liquid that came out of her when she fell on the rocks. What was it called? Blood.

“Esmeralda, honey,” a voice called from the doorway. She whipped her head around, relieved when she found it was just her father. “Why don’t we go find some lemonade? You like lemonade, don’t you?” She followed him into the kitchen, leaving her mother on the blood soaked couch. She didn’t know that would be her last time with her mother.

Esmeralda moved back towards the body, searching for a way to identify the corpse. In the weak light coming from the bottom of the door, she recognized the body as a female, around the same age as herself. She propped the body up against the wall, noticing that there were glasses on the floor where the woman had landed. She dusted them off, settling them on the bridge of the lady’s nose.

“There, that’s better” she said, scooting back so she could see better, “Now, what’s your name?” She nodded as if the corpse was talking. “Okay, Lorelei, can I call you Lori? Lorelei is a nice name, but it’s rather long.” She moved closer, grabbing Lori’s limp hand, “Oh Lori, I’m Esmeralda, but you can call me Esme. That’s what my father called me. He loved making up pet names.” Esmeralda brushed her hand along Lori’s blonde braid, grabbing the end to twirl it into a bun above her head so it wouldn’t get soiled on the ground.

“I’ve been in here so long, it’s nice to have a friend to talk to. I can’t wait to show you to Emmett. He comes every night.” She stood up, brushing off unidentifiable matter off her burgundy dress, “Who’s Alistair? Well, the correct question is who Alistair isn’t. He’s a pirate one night and a cowboy the next. But he ain’t that good at being a cowboy, he can’t make a horse sound as well as I can.” The light underneath the door slowly faded and rain drops pattered on the roof as they talked about nothing at all, changing topics as quickly as lightening strikes.

A knock sounded at the door and a bright light flashed across the two girls. A large man walked in, shaking water off his black curls like a dog would. He set down his bag and bent to light an oil lamp he had brought. It flickered to life after a few tries and his wide grin blossomed on his face. He pulled the dustpan out of his canvas bag, sweeping out an area around the lamp for them to sit.

“Hello Ms. Esmeralda. It’s nice to see you on this fine evening,” he said with a smirk, “And who is this pretty lady? Am I intruding?” He played along with her antics, knowing what his boss had been doing to her. He knew that Endriko had been using torture strategies that were usually kept for the Special Forces men who were taught to never crack under pressure. And yet, after having only blood and human meat to eat for two weeks and a dead body thrown into her shed, she seemed unfazed. She danced and twirled, giggling every night when he’d bring her human food and something to do during the dark hours, so she could sleep through the day when the worst of the torture sessions would occur.

“Good day to you, Mr. Alistair. This is my best friend Lorelei. She likes to be called Lori. What did you bring tonight?” Esme flitted over to his bag, peeking inside without touching.

“Uh uh uh, Esmeralda. That is for me to know and for you to find out. First off, wash your face and hands,” he ordered, producing a wet washcloth in a container of water from his sack. She quickly scrubbed at her skin until it turned a light pink. “Now, it’s dinner time!” He had established this routine the first week he found out that she was the one locked in the infamous torture cells. When he had begun his night watch, he could hear crying coming from a shed, but didn’t know that it belonged to a young child until he had read the case files about each prisoner.

They ate their microwave waffles and apple juice in silence, Alistair watching as the ravenous girl devoured her three and two of his own. He had passed them over silently when she had started fidgeting with her hands. His bulky body needed food but it could wait until later, when he took over for Jerry at the desk. He had her brush her teeth with the toothpaste, toothbrush and bottle of water he always kept in his tote.

“I had a dream today,” she sang as she twirled in the light, watching her shadows dance with her. She retold her dream and Alistair shivered. She didn’t know that it wasn’t her memory at all, but a planted one. She was part of the PMG, an experiment to see if a human could be a stable part of a community while having false memories. The Planted Memory Generation was just starting out and she was the first orphan they picked off the streets of Manhattan. When they wiped her mind clean and uploaded her new “life”, she rebelled, creating distractions and one-woman riots in the center of the heavily enclosed community used for observation. She was poked and prodded, discussed and poked some more until Endriko decided that she was uploaded with the wrong batch of memories, ones of hate and violence. Esmeralda was dropped into a cage and Gregory, the technician who worked on her, was eliminated.

Alistair didn’t have the heart to tell her about her condition, for she might collapse into a coma from the onslaught of stress and the possibility of a relapse. The scientists working on the community hadn’t investigated the theory fully yet. They weren’t sure if the PGM would remember the original memories if told about the planted ones. They weren’t sure how strong the walls they put in their minds were. Every second of contact from a non-implanted human was a liability.

He pulled out the secondhand cards he had gotten from the closest thrift store. He had been teaching her how to play blackjack, a way to pass the time before dawn hit. Once light started to filter through, he had to be gone to replace the night staff. No one knew about his relationship with the ten year old, and it was best kept that way. The hours passed as she quickly caught on to the ways of counting cards. Alistair was trying to set her up with a lifestyle incase she escaped, though it was a rare occurrence. She had begun to count in her head without moving her lips. Her brain just absorbed everything he taught her and quickly she was beating him. Then they moved onto poker, more importantly Texas Hold ‘Em.

Alistair checked his watch when Esmeralda was intently staring at her cards. He had been determined to hide the electronic world from her, so if she was reacquainted with the community, she wouldn’t act strange around the others, for they weren’t allowed to use technology. It was almost four, and he had to arrive at the desk at four thirty.

“Esmeralda, dear,” he whispered and her sleepy eyes looked up at him, “I gotta go honey. I’ll be back tomorrow. Help me pick up these cards.” She quietly did as she was told and handed him the stack. He leaned in, scooping her into his arms, “I’ ll be back. Don’t worry, darling,:” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stood up, withdrawing his arms to stretch and pop his bones into place.

“Uh, Alistair?” she whispered, her voice wavering.

“Yes, darling?”

“You forgot Lorelei,” she pointed at the dead woman. Alistair moved over to the corpse, brushing back the blonde bangs to lightly peck the woman’s cheek. He blew out the lamp, packed it into his canvas sack and moved to the door.

“Good night, Ms. Esmeralda,” he whispered, setting his black fedora on his head.

“Good morning, Mr. Alistair.” He opened the door, letting in light for a second, before the door shut and he was gone.

Esmeralda slept through the day, not knowing that Endriko had paid her a visit at noon. He watched her sleep, curled into a ball in the corner with the corpse. He walked into the small shed, his face twisting in disgust at the smell of decay and feces that she was living in. He turned on his heel, his black trench coat billowing out from behind him.

“Dispose of her,” he commanded, “She isn’t even worth her weight in cow pies.” His guards followed sullenly behind him, their heads down. They’d finish the job later that night.

* * *

Esmeralda awoke to the sound of whispers and shoes on the porch area on her shed. She crouched in the corner next to Lori, knowing that it couldn’t be Alistair. She could still see a sliver of light from underneath the door. Three of Endriko’s men stood outside her door, their combat boots making large footprints on the small wooden area in front of her door. One of the tall men carried a large tin canister. He opened a hole in the lid and started pouring liquid around the shed. He doused the door and walls before throwing the can on the roof, the lid still open. Darkness was falling and the second man looked around, checking to make sure that the night watch wasn’t around. He then struck a match, watching the flame for a minute, then tossing it on the roof. The flames grew, engulfing the small roof in its flickering orange glow. It moved down the sides of the shed, surrounding Esmeralda’s home.

Esmeralda heard the tin can hit the roof and felt a few drops of the gasoline fall on her head. The orange fingers of light licked their way inside her room , making her move into the middle of the room. It moved into a circle of fire. She was terrified, she had never seen anything like this. The smoke clogged her throat and made her eyes burn. She hugged Lori closer, whispering to her that everything’d be okay. She pounded against the door, hoping that someone would hear her. She coughed moving back away from the hungry fire. It crept closer, singeing Lori’s braid. Esmeralda screamed, letting Lori go and staring into the blank eyes that watched her as the body was eaten by the yellow tongues.

“Alistair!” Esmeralda cried, her voice cracking and she had to stop when the smoke invaded her lungs. She screamed his name over and over, waiting for her savior of the past years to help her. Alistair never came that night.