Remember (8 page)

chapter fourteen

I
drove back across the state as fast as I could without risking a ticket. I didn’t even stop for dinner and instead wolfed down a chicken sandwich from a fast food joint while driving. I stopped outside town and did a quick search on my phone to get the exact address. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. This was a bad idea. I should wait until morning, but I didn’t want to. I texted Win to let her know what I was doing and that I would be later getting back to her place than planned. I ignored her return text telling me that what I was about to do was stupid and to call her first. I turned the phone off so I didn’t have to listen to it buzz.

The address I found online led me to the apartment building Neil had mentioned. It used to be a hotel. One of those cheap motels where you park in front of your room and at the
end of the hall there’s a vending machine with stale candy bars and cold soda. It had been redone to offer low-cost housing a few years ago. I knew a lot of college students and arty types lived there. I spotted Neil’s beat-up car in front of one of the units and knocked on the door before I could lose my nerve.

“’Bout time you got here.” The door flung open. Neil stared at me in surprise.

“I didn’t know I was late,” I said.

He blinked, staring silently at me for a second. “Sorry. I thought you were one of my friends. He’s supposed to bring back subs.” He looked past me as if he thought someone behind me might be sneaking up with sandwiches. “How did you find me?”

“That day you came by my house. You told me you lived here.” He stared at me as if he was somewhat shocked I’d remembered. Music was blaring inside the apartment. “I should have called first. I wasn’t even sure you’d be home.” I hadn’t called on purpose. I was afraid he might not want to see me, or that he would put me off. I had to see him now before I lost my nerve. “I wanted to ask you a few things.”

“Sure, c’mon in. Welcome to my castle.” He turned off the music. “Castle” might have been overstating things. It was highly unlikely Neil’s apartment was going to show up in a design magazine, unless it was as a “before” picture. He crossed in front of me and swept a pile of stuff off the sofa and dumped it in the open door of the bedroom. The apartment was small,
and the carpet felt almost spongy under my feet. There wasn’t even a separate kitchen. The living room had a counter along the back with a small fridge and a two-burner stove. He wasn’t going to be making Thanksgiving dinner in this place.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Neil opened the fridge. “I’ve got water and orange juice.” He pulled the carton of juice out and sniffed it. His face recoiled, and he dumped it in the sink. “Scratch the juice option. I can make coffee.”

“Water’s fine.”

Neil grabbed a glass off the shelf and looked it over. It must not have met inspection, because he grabbed another one. He filled it up and passed it to me and motioned for me to have a seat on the sofa.

I sat down and nearly spilled the water as I sank to the floor. I was willing to bet this sofa had been a “free for the taking” find on a corner. I wasn’t even sure it had any functioning springs left. Neil sat on the only other seat in the room, his desk chair.

“I hope I’m not busting up your Saturday night plans.” Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation.

“Nah. I’m just writing letters. If my friend ever shows up, we’re going to watch a movie.”

“You’re writing letters?” My voice must have echoed my disbelief, because he held up a sheet of paper on the desk as proof.

“Letter, you know, retro communication. It’s to my sister.”

“Doesn’t she have a computer? Or a phone?”

Neil laughed. “You should see your face. It’s like I told
you there was no bathroom here and we use an outhouse.”

“Please tell me there’s a bathroom,” I said.

“Yes, there’s a bathroom, and yes, my sister has both a computer and a phone.” Neil leaned back against the desk. “The thing with letters is that they take effort. You can fire off an e-mail in a minute and a text in less than that. You don’t even have to think about it. I want my sister to know I spent some time. Besides, who doesn’t like getting something in the mail?”

I tried to remember the last time anyone had written me a letter and drew a blank.

“I also don’t like to have all my communication tracked,” he added. “That’s why I ask people to memorize my number versus putting it in their phones.”

My eyebrows went up.

“You know the government scans e-mail and phone traffic, right? Not to mention how your computer is tracking everything, from what sites you surf to what you buy online. They have huge profiles and data files on everyone.”

“So?”

Neil looked like the top of his head was about to lift off. “So? Are you comfortable with companies tracking all of that stuff? They know where you are. They can predict things about you. Did you hear about the case with Target?”

I shook my head no.

“Along with most stores, they track everything you buy. They use those purchases to make predictions about what you
might want to buy next and then send you coupons.” He paused to make sure I was following him. “So they send this one fifteen-year-old girl coupons for baby stuff. They realize that her buying patterns match those of someone who is expecting. Her dad flips his lid. How dare the company make this assumption? Then it comes out that his daughter is pregnant. She hadn’t told her parents yet. Target figured it out before they did.” He leaned back in his chair. “Tell me you think that’s creepy.”

“Sure, it’s weird, but that’s part of life now.”

“Speak for yourself. That’s why I don’t have an e-mail account except at school, no cell phone, and I pay cash whenever I can. I’m off grid as much as possible.”

His approach seemed a bit over-the-top conspiracy theory to me, but you can’t show up at someone’s house and insult him. Especially if you’re planning to ask him to do you a favor. It was sort of neat that he was so passionate about something. I could tell it mattered to him. “The whole low-tech thing makes you very hipster. Trendsetting,” I said.

He dropped the serious expression. “Fine. You come by just to mock me, or is this turnabout because I showed up at your house?”

The smile on my face disappeared. It was like I’d almost forgotten why I’d come, but it came rushing back. “I wanted to ask you about what you know about Neurotech.”

Neil cocked his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you stopped by, but I would think if you wanted info on Neurotech, your dad would be the go-to person.”

I ignored his comment and pressed forward. “You’ve done a lot of research about the company and the side effects. Has anyone reported having new memories?”

“New memories?”

I shifted on the sofa. “Not really new. Recovered. Things they had forgotten that were sort of shaken free.”

Neil stared at me. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m just curious.” I shoved my hair behind my ears and hoped I looked casual. Times like this I wish I had longer hair I could hide behind.

“What memories are you having?” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

“I’m not having any memories.” My jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have come. I knew you’d try to twist this around.”

Neil pulled his chair closer to the sofa. “Easy. You’re not the one having memories. My mistake. Go on. Tell me about this other person’s problem. Your friend of a friend.”

I pulled on my hair. I knew he didn’t believe me, but it made me feel better that he was willing to play along. “Have you heard of it happening to anyone?”

“No. You checked the official side effects of the treatment before you had it, right?”

I hadn’t looked at anything. There were forms that detailed the side effects that I’d initialed before I went in, but I hadn’t read them. No one read those things. It was like when you went onto a website—who read the user agreement? No one. “Maybe you could remind me,” I suggested.

Neil sighed. “Okay, as I’m sure you recall, the most common side effects of the treatment that Neurotech admits to are headaches, dizziness, and difficulty with sleeping. There are also a statistically significant number of people who find the treatment doesn’t have the impact they wanted. They’re still having an emotional reaction to whatever they went in to have blasted out.”

“That doesn’t happen to that many people,” I said, interrupting him.

“Not many,” he admitted. “But it happens enough that there are research numbers behind it. The big unknown is people having a really bad side effect. Early Alzheimer’s.”

“I looked at the research you gave me,” I said. “We’re talking about a small number of people who are reporting that as a possible side effect. Really small. And even with that group, they don’t know that some of them even have Alzheimer’s for sure.”

Neil leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the sofa next to me. “True, but if the treatment causes this in only less than one percent, don’t people still have a right to know that? That they’re risking losing it all? Sure, if they’re trying to block something huge, war memories or having been attacked, something really bad, they might still do it, but if they’re trying to get over a breakup? Maybe not.”

I chewed my lip. I wanted to disagree with him, but I couldn’t. He was being too reasonable.

“To get back to your original question, I haven’t heard of anyone reporting having recovered memories, but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. The brain is a weird thing; there’s a lot science doesn’t understand about how it works. Then you factor in that Neurotech spends a lot of money to make sure that people reporting negative side effects are hushed up.”

“That isn’t fair. It took a lot of money to bring the procedure to market; you can’t blame the company for protecting their investment.” My voice came out clipped and short.

Neil stared at me. “Is there a reason you’re pissed at me for answering your question?”

“I’m not pissed.” I went to stand, but the sofa had me sucked to the floor like it was a worn corduroy black hole, so I swam around before I could get to my feet. I shouldn’t have come here for help. I’d thought because he’d researched the company he might know something or have a fresh outlook on things, but this was a mistake. Neil reached to help me, but moved back when I shot him a look.

“Just for clarity, assuming we spend more time around each other, if this isn’t you being pissed, what would you call it?” He smiled, and I felt irritated that he could joke about it.

“We’re not spending time together. I have a boyfriend, Josh.” I felt flustered, which annoyed me even more. “I came over to ask a question, not hang out.”

“Would that be the question that didn’t make you pissed when I answered it?” He held up a hand before I said anything
else. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You’re cute when you get riled up and bust loose. It’s like I get to see the real you.”

I flushed. “There isn’t a fake me.”

Neil cocked his head to the side as if he were trying to get a different perspective. “I get the feeling there’s a lot more to you than people would think. You’re not some society, popular, empty-headed Barbie doll.”

I grabbed my bag off the floor. “Wow. Am I supposed to thank you for that?” I shoved away the feeling that there was a part of me that was pleased with what he said. If I considered someone telling me I wasn’t empty-headed to be a compliment, I needed to up my game.

Neil stood. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off. I was just teasing. I’m bad at the whole communication thing, so I joke around. Total defense reaction. I don’t care why you came over; I’m glad you did.”

“Why? No one else around for you to make fun of?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Neil’s feet shuffled on the threadbare carpet.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but hanging around to be your joke isn’t my idea of a good time.” I stuck my chin in the air.

His face was serious. “You’re not a joke. Not to me. You might be the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long time.” Neil took a step closer. My heart thundered in my chest. Part of my brain was screaming for me to back away, but another part wanted to see what would happen next. He
started to lean forward, when suddenly there was a pounding at the door. It sounded like a SWAT team trying to break it down.

The door flew open, and a lanky Asian guy practically fell into the room, holding a bag from Subway above his head like the sword Excalibur. “I have brought sustenance!”

Neil and I took a quick step apart. The Asian guy’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Sorry about that. Didn’t think anyone else was here. I mean, what are the odds he’d have a girl over? Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You weren’t interrupting anything. I was just leaving.” I moved toward the door.

“Trey, meet Harper. Harper, this is my friend Trey. You can usually recognize him by his love for fantasy novels and his complete lack of personal boundary space and inability to wait to be let in someplace.”

Trey held out his hand. “Greetings, fair maiden.”

I stared at him, at a loss for what to say. Was he about to start quoting from a
Lord of the Rings
movie or something?

“Sorry, channeling my inner geek. Nice to meet you.” He smiled and gave a short bow.

I pushed myself to smile back. “You too. I have to go.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” Trey said. “I’d even share my sub with you. Unlike this guy, I don’t get those nasty pickled pepper things on mine.”

“Pickled peppers elevate the sub to something more than fast food,” Neil said.

Trey made a face at me. “I grew up eating chicken feet on Sunday at my grandmother’s, and even I know pickled peppers are disgusting on a ham-and-cheese sub.”

I giggled. Trey looked proud of himself for getting a laugh out of me.

“We’re going to watch a movie. Stay,” Trey said.

“I can’t. I need to go.” Part of me wanted him to convince me to hang out, and another part of me wanted to escape.

“Come by again. Anytime. Not just if you have a question about Neurotech,” Neil said.

Trey’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at me, and then back at Neil. “Is she . . . ?” Neil’s look froze him midsentence.