This new guy stares at me and doesn’t move even as I walk toward the door. His intense blue eyes make me uncomfortable.

“Hope?” He asks as if he isn’t sure if that is who I am.

“Yeah, that’s what they call me.” I shrug. It’s time to go eat my gruel.

He gulps and stands in front of the doorway, blocking me from passing through.

This new guy is clearly nervous, but soon he’ll realize there’s no reason to be nervous about me. I’m just the easygoing prisoner that does as she’s told. No memories of the person they claim I am.

“You don’t have to worry about me running away or how to close the door while keeping your eye on me. All the doors can close automatically. Just lead the way to the dining room, and they will close on their own,” I tell him.

He rubs his right hand through the short hair above his ear. “I wasn’t worried about that. I - I just wanted to -” he pauses, his eyes staring hard at me. “Introduce myself,” he finishes. “I’m Nathan. I’ll be your handler while Rebecca is on vacation.”

I hold out my hand like Azalea did for me, “I’m told my name is Hope. I promise I won’t make your life difficult.”

The left side of his lips curls upward in a smile while the other side stays still. He grips my hand and shakes it. “I won’t hold you to a promise I know you can’t keep,” he says.

“I’ve not caused any trouble at all for Rebecca,” I inform him, not sure why he would think I would be a troublemaker.

He shakes his head and turns, leading the way through the door. I follow like the docile prisoner I am.

The moment we enter the dining room, Nathan rushes out to get plates of food. First, Patrick and Azalea, then myself, and finally, old man McNeil. He takes Rebecca’s spot next to the old man, helping him eat his meal, and I scarf down my dinner, only half listening as Patrick talks about the challenges of mistreatment of individuals in the public hospital’s memory ward.

I have trouble taking my eyes off this man named Nathan. He’d been serving food here the entire time I remember being here, and I’d barely noticed him till now. I’m not even sure what it is that has me feeling like I’m about to jump off, out of, something? Jump off the edge of my room? To what. Why does the thought make the hair on my arm stand up? But this new guardian is not the same abyss as the thought of leaping into the pit of the unknown. Similar in the way I feel alert.

“It’s all your fault, Hope,” Patrick says.

I have no idea how public hospitals and memory sickness are my fault, but Patrick always seems happy to blame me for everything. “What are you blaming me for this time?”

“My day of having to deal with anger at the public hospitals. It was your work that put funding into them. It was you who insisted we allow anyone with memory sickness to seek treatment at these decrepit mental hospitals. And now I get to deal with the fallout,” Patrick rants.

“Was there no oversight put in place with the additional funding?” I put to use the knowledge I’ve gained reading with Azalea in the library.

“Patrick told me the inspector got bribed,” Azalea responds.

“Why wasn’t there more than one inspector? The more checks on a system, the harder it is to corrupt.”

“We didn’t have the funding due to the repairs costing more than expected,” Patrick rubs his temples. “I really didn’t want to be put to further interrogation at my dinner table,” he groans.

Azalea shakes her head. “I’m telling you that I think the person in charge of handling the hospital’s funds embezzled money by pretending the repairs cost more than budgeted. Then, all the problems cascade from there. It would mean that it’s your finance department’s fault rather than Hope’s fault.”

I smile at my friend, glad to have someone on my side.

Patrick’s brows narrow, and he rubs his forehead. “If Hope hadn’t decided to steal everyone’s memories to move things along faster, we wouldn’t be having so many issues.”

“I don’t know how any person could steal someone else’s memories,” I say. His accusations really are tiring.

“Ah yes, and destroying your own memories was your greatest feat. Plausible deniability. The scientists at the prison explained to me that you were the first test subject for the machine, and as such, you had extra hardware that somehow connected you to it at all times. They called you a part of the Xatron system, whatever that means. I’m guessing when you saw me destroying it is when you decided to eat your memories,” Patrick’s ramblings were like gibberish to me.

I glance over at the servant, Nathan, and see him staring straight at the old man as he feeds him, his brow wrinkled in a frown. Did he understand that nonsense?

Azalea asks Patrick a question about the book we are reading, and the conversation moves on, leaving me to finish up my stew without further interruptions.

The moment the last morsel is in my mouth, I stand. Patrick motions for me to sit back down.

“We are a little short-staffed right now. You will have to wait for everyone to finish eating before we can spare a servant to walk you back,” Patrick says.

I sit and watch as Patrick’s attention turns back to Azalea. He smiles at her and reaches forward to move a strand of black hair out from in front of her face. Her blush and return smile makes me feel a little warmer. At least she is managing to improve her relationship with her husband.

At the other end of the table, I can see that the mash on the older man’s plate has gone down. I fiddle with my fingers, impatient to be released from sitting in the middle of this family.

Spoonful by spoonful, the older man eats. As the last spoonful enters his mouth, I exhale and feel my tension ease a little.

The blond man looks over at Patrick, his blue eyes asking what he is supposed to do next, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Take my father,” Patrick pauses and looks at me, his brown eyes thinking through the scenarios ahead. “No, take the girl to her room first. I’ll watch my father until you get back and can take care of him again.”

Nathan stands, and I jump up from my seat. “Thanks!” I say with a smile directed at Patrick. I have no restriction against talking in this household of stilted silence.

I follow Nathan back to my prison room, expecting him to stop at the door and leave, but he enters the room and then waits near the door, watching me.

As I pass him, he whispers. “Security is light. Ask for me to be back later.”

I stop and stare at him. What does he mean by ask for him to be back later? He’s my current prison guard. I can’t imagine what reason he would want to visit later.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“You don’t need to look so worried. I’m not going to touch you,” he says loudly, as if for the cameras in the room. He smiles at me, softening the lines around his eyes and making his narrow, oval face look a little less stern.

“I -” I don’t know how to respond to his two very different statements. “I would assume you wouldn’t touch me with the cameras that are always watching. I’m just not used to my guardian coming into the room with me now.” I say for whoever is watching’s benefit.

He laughs, “I am not your guard. I’m a servant who is here to ensure I get you anything you need.”

The wording is a touch awkward, but I think I understand this game. “I know you have to get back to serve the master, but could you bring me some chamomile tea later tonight?” I ask, fulfilling his request.

He gives a slight bow with his hand on his chest, “Of course, m’lady.”

He leaves, and I prepare for bed. I do not know when “later” will be, and I don’t feel like waiting around doing nothing.

“Later” seems to be much later. With nothing left to do, I lay down in my bed and contemplate this day that hasn’t been quite right.

A knock on the door pulls me up from the edge of sleep.

“I don’t want to intrude, but you asked for tea,” a hesitant male voice asks.

“Room, light on,” I say, seeing Nathan holding a cup of tea near the door. “Come in.”

As he brings the tea to me, the door closes behind him.

“Sorry I’m so late. I had to wait until security left for the night. With the holidays right now, only the new staff, such as myself, are working,” he says while handing me the tea.

“So what’s so important that you had to wait for security to be gone to talk to me?” I ask, blowing on the hot tea. I realize it’s too hot and set it on my nightstand.

“Mind if I sit?” he points to the bed, the only place to sit in this essentially bare room.

“Go ahead.”

He takes a seat near my feet and then takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I’m not really supposed to talk with you, which is why I had to wait for security to be lax. I’m on your side,” he pauses and opens his blue eyes, turning to look straight at me. “I think they’ve told you some things. I heard Patrick mentioning the memory sickness and your time in office. What else do you know?”

I feel awkward laying in bed with him sitting near my feet, so I sit up and swing my feet to dangle off the bed.

“Not much of anything. Supposedly, I am some crazy, dangerous murderer or something, and I somehow took my own memory,” I tell him the things I’ve been told. It’s not much; anyone in this house should know this information. If I did know more, though, I’m not sure if I would trust anyone here to tell them more.

“Patrick changed out most of the staff after you passed out at the prison. I managed to get hired here through some connections so I could see you again, but when I got here, I saw that you had reverted once more. Patrick is trying to hide that information from the public. What he’s been telling Azalea and you about is only half the story of what’s going on outside,” he says.

There’s so much to unpack in those few statements. I’m not even sure where to start. I look into his blue eyes, which draw me in. I’ll start there. “See me again? Reverted once more? Who are you to me? Why do I feel like-” I don’t even know how to explain how I feel. I want to trust him, to believe everything he says.

“We were -” he pauses, his eyes focused on me, searching for what he wants to say. “Honestly, I don’t know what we were. We were close. Then, we were separated. Then I met you again, and we were prisoners who escaped together. We were far, two people with differing ideals. In the end, though, I think we were in love. I don’t know. You ran away - I can’t blame you, I was the one who ran first. Next, I hear you’ve been captured and are awaiting trial while under house arrest. Hellen, one of my housemates, helped me create this identity so that I could search for you. And when I found you, you didn’t even glance my way.”

We were in love? How strange to look at this man and remember nothing. Didn’t memories make up love? But even without memories, I was drawn to him. And that didn’t answer the question about having reverted again.

“But here you are, like you were when we met at the prison. A memoryless prisoner. Except this time, you remember the name I gave you in prison. Last time you didn’t remember your old name.”

“I didn’t remember this time. I was told who I was,” I say. We sit in silence. If this isn’t the first time, I’m surprised that this admission has silenced him. “So this is the second time I’ve forgotten everything?”

“Sort of?” he shrugs. “You seemed to be able to choose to remember or forget up to at some point from when you were in prison. But I think I understand why now.”

Another revelation. “You understand my memory issues?”

“I’ve met others like you. They have watched your memories, and they are coming,” his voice is rushed and quiet.

“What?” I can’t seem to wrap my head around what he is saying.

“We waited till I had a chance to talk to you. When they bring their Xatron in range, your hardware should connect, and you can download your memories again. I need you to continue to be clueless. You can do the blocking you’ve done in the past. When we are ready, I will come get you. Can you do that for me?” his eyes look up toward a corner of the room. I assume that’s where the camera is.

“Yes, I guess,” I don’t even understand what I’m agreeing to.

He smiles, looks at his watch, and then looks back at me. “You should connect soon.”

Pain drills into my head. I want to scream, but I can’t. I know I can’t alert security. I could block the pain. Send it away, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea. Much like holding up against this feeling drilling into my skull feels wrong. I close my eyes, and I give in to the pain, letting it engulf me.

Memories. I see Nathan. Lizzie. The guards I killed. The steps I took to become the mayor. Everything. It’s all there. All still me.

Not like the other memories that start flooding my mind. A boy, Van, who surfs on the wind. He watches his life in a disassociated existence, but he has felt what it was to be me. It is his Xatron that has connected to me. There are others. Thirteen of them gathered. Van shows me the shuttle they are in. They are in the outskirts of the city. They are coming.

When? I ask him.

Soon, but not yet. Van says through the connection. Nathan will tell you more.

I open my eyes. Nathan has moved closer. Concern lines the bottom of his eyes, and I realize he is holding me. I don’t want him to let go, but he releases me the moment he sees my eyes open.

“Nathan,” I whisper his name, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I panicked when I realized that Patrick might know about the Xatron. And I was right to - wait, how do I have my memories? My Xatron was destroyed,” my brain frantically runs through the memories of my last moments, searching for some explanation.

He hugs me. “I can’t tell you right now. We don’t have enough time.”

He starts to pull away again, but I lean into his hug, wrapping my arms around him. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want him to leave me.

He pulls me tight and then releases me. “I need us to be like strangers for what I’m about to say next. You need to remember this next part.”

I let go and pull back even though I don’t want to. A tear drips down my face, and Nathan pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, reaching forward to wipe my face. I don’t want to hear what he wants to tell me next.

He pulls back, scoots away from me, and then takes a deep breath. “I need you to forget everything from before waking up here after your Xatron was destroyed, and I need you to forget most of this conversation after I ask you to stay clueless until the end of this sentence.”

He waits for me to respond, so I nod, not trusting my voice at this moment.

He closes his eyes and recites the line he wants to say. “When I come to you and say the phrase: ‘It’s time to leave your cocoon, Hope.’ I need you to release your memories.

For a moment, I wonder what exactly he wants, and then I realize he’s talking about what I did in jail. I pushed my memories behind a barrier so I didn’t have to remember. Now, he wants me to selectively cherry-pick what I remember and what I don’t. I look up to his downcast eyes, where he sits far from me.

He’s asking me to forget him again.” I’ll see you on the flip side,” I whisper even as I take scissors to my memories of the evening, shove them in with the memories of the past, and force it all behind a wall.

I knock on the wall. What’s behind it? The last thing I heard was this weird man sitting in front of me saying something about releasing my memories. I think of the strange wall in my head that appeared out of nowhere. I nod. “I’ll listen for that. Then will you tell me what’s going on?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then shrugs with a nod. “I won’t need to. You’ll understand.” He looks at his wrist. “It’s time for me to head out. Drink your tea and sleep well.”

I look at the tea sitting on the nightstand and pick it up. It’s cooled off enough to drink. What have I forgotten?

The door shuts; he is gone.

You are there by the door. I know you, but how? I haven't seen you before, have I? And yet, you are here. A presence I know.