The first step was to go to Teacher. June, Sally and Hank headed out, June riding her own cycle while Sally stayed behind Hank on his motorcycle, arms around his waist.

“This is gonna be hard,” Hank said.

“I know,” June replied. They passed through the older regions of town, the brownstones rising up around them.

I wonder how I could ever compare this place to Darktown. There was sorrow here, and fatigue, but also contentment.

Not the despair that had made Darktown so big to the inhabitants. And they weren’t…

As self-centered. Most of the people of Darktown had room only for their own sorrows.

Mary, for all that she waited for her mother, had friends and playtime and would talk to June…

Not like Mom. What do we do about Mom?

June didn’t have an answer to that. When they got to the ziggurat, she couldn’t help but notice how small it was compared to the one they’d encountered in Darktown.

Is this a memory, a reflection of that one? Or is this where the people came who weren’t completely filled with despair, so they Moved On and didn’t pull it down into Darktown?

June didn’t know. But she had questions as she dismissed her bike and marched up the steps, Hank and Sally by her side.

“Teacher?” she called.

“You are ear—“ Teacher stopped, and his glowing eyes narrowed. “You have the stench of Darktown on you. I warned you about that place.”

“Yeah, I followed Mom. She lives there now.”

“She does. I am sorry, June.”

“And we’re going to pull her out.”

Teacher paused, pointed at June. “June, have you heard nothing about the importance of choice? What are you going to do, tie her up in a closet? It won’t help. The people who live in Darktown will just bring it with them!”

“It’s not just about her. There’s something else going on in Darktown. We were chased, and we wouldn't have made it out except for Witness.”

Teacher went still. “Witness? Well, that’s a name I have not heard in a very, very long time.”

“They gave me this.” June held out her hand, and the spear slowly formed in it. “It’s how I survived.”

“I—well, that is a complement to your skill and my training. You were able to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me. Everything.” Teacher gestured and the interior of the ziggurat was lit by a fire kindled in the central firepit.

June, Hank, and Sally followed Teacher, as June opened her mouth and started telling him what had happened.

Teacher said little, asking questions now and then, especially about the ceremony in the theater.

“Cults are common in Darktown,” Teacher finally said. “Usually as methods to make the members feel… justified in their misery. They reinforce each other, and anyone who has doubts merely has to talk to their fellows.”

June shivered. “Like if someone left them.”

“Indeed.” Teacher paused, then shook his head. “Either telling them that it was not their fault, or that it was their fault—but many who live in darktown take pride in that fact, as twisted as it seems.”

June looked down, and then felt Hank and Sally put their hands on her shoulders.

“Not your fault, Dear,” Sally said. “Trust me.”

“But if we get her out…”

“You can talk to her, but the ultimate decision is hers,” Teacher turned, the hooded form moving towards the fire, his shadow trailing behind him. “But I am concerned about this group, this… cult. I have never heard of something like what you described, and yet, I have been here a very, very, long time.”

“People give memories away all the time,” Hank said.

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“Yes, but this doesn’t sound like giving them away, but sacrificing them.” Teacher walked to the entryway, looking out in the direction of the city. “Even those in Darktown have some hope of leaving. But if their memories were truly taken, truly sacrificed…”

“They would never leave. They would never know they could leave.” Sally shivered.

“The last two didn’t look like they were happy or sad, they didn’t look like they had… anything.” June shook her head. “But that can’t be right, can it. Someone without memories, without any memories, wouldn’t they just… cease?” Like someone trying to just not breathe up when we were alive. You either breathe or you die. There’s no two ways about it. And down here, memory was life. Memory was everything.

“They gave up memories of their joy and sorrows…” Teacher murmured. “Maybe not of their existence? Or maybe…”

“What?” June asked.

“Maybe those memories were replaced by something else. Something from another place.”

“The Dimlit Lands?” Hank asked. “But there’s nothing much there, it’s just old memories, sinking into oblivion!”

“Yes.” Teacher nodded. “But the Memory Lands are vast beyond our comprehension. It may be that there are beings here of which we know little, beings who are attempting to use the unhappy inhabitants of Darktown as a… resource.”

“Or it could just be another cult,” Sally said.

“Indeed, in which case, should we be more relieved that a cult has apparently achieved something that I have never heard of being done in my long life?” Teacher’s voice had a tinge of sarcasm to it.

Teacher’s worried. He’s normally a lot calmer.

“Memories are power,” June quietly said. “If they’re taking the memories, what are they doing with them?”

“That is a very good question.” Teacher said. “I fear you much find and bring your mother to us, that we can learn more of this.” Teacher glanced at June, the eerie light of his eyes growing in intensity. “But make no mistake. It is unlikely that this will have a good ending for her. Are you prepared?”

“Yes.” June nodded.

“Then return to your domiciles and rest. We will start our hunt tomorrow.”

“Right.”

“You want us to come with you?” Hank asked. “This has been a hell of a day for you.”

June shook her head. “No. I can handle it, and I think I need some rest. Thanks.”

Because I need to think. What can I say to Mom?

----------------------------------------

Normally, sleep came easy. But not tonight. June lay on her bed, Grandma’s pillow under her head, but…

Huh. The ceiling is just like my first room. I didn’t notice that. There was even the little stain when an excited five-year-old June had forgotten that if you jumped up and down, the liquid in your glass wouldn’t stay in your glass.

Mom was pissed. Dad laughed and calmed her down. Mom had been the one…

June rolled over on her side. Below her, she heard a TV playing.

An episode of the Jack Benny show.

“Now Rochester…”

A lot of people stick with their old memories. It was one of the things that was different about June’s surge. Or maybe it was because they’d died so fast, died so soon.

No chance to spend years in retirement homes thinking about what had been?

June shook her head. Maybe she was reading too much into it. Some people just liked the familiar.

Dad had worn his heart on his sleeve. When he was happy, you knew it, when he was angry, you knew it.

Mom… Mom had been the controlled one, at least until you pushed her too far and she blew up. She’d also been the one…

Looking for something. Going to church but…

June rolled up and sat on the edge of her bed. There was one thing missing in her room—her computer.

But the Internet wasn’t something you could easily craft from memories, although she knew a few people were supposedly trying it.

We’re dead, and someone’s trying to make it so we can play MMOs. And I’m avoiding what I need to think about.

Mom. Always looking for…

One week it was yelling at Dad for not going to church. The next week, it was a new book on finding yourself. Mom had been…

She was never satisfied.

“Always looking for the shortcut,” June said to herself. “And if you’re hurting, and Dad left you…”

Well, whatever it was that was in Darktown could provide a hell of a shortcut.

“But I’ve got memories as well,” June said. She held out her hand, closed her eyes, remembering that ancient haft, tipped with the gleaming obsidian tip. Moments later, she was holding the spear, the weight of its memory seeming to make the room feel more real than it had. A memory-worker could use other memories, tokens, even if it wasn’t from their lives. June didn’t have anything like that.

Until now. And these were real memories, so ancient that they made everything June had seen look like they were newborn. And Mom didn’t have very much left, not if she’d been giving her memories away to whatever… that thing had been.

Right. Mom, I’m coming for you. This time, we’re talking.

June nodded to herself and ran one finger along the gleaming edge of that obsidian blade. She hissed softly as it parted her skin, ruby droplets of blood falling onto the dark glass, before they were absorbed. Then June looked at her finger and healed it with a memory.

She dismissed the spear, letting it fade back into her memories. There was a sense of… hunger about it. As if it was eager for what was to come.

Well, it’s been a long time since it’s been on a hunt, so I guess it has a reason to be eager.

With that, June lay back in bed and closed her eyes. She’d have to be ready for tomorrow.