Anamnesis

The chair I am sitting in makes my skin itch and the wooden armrests cage me in like I am some sort of animal. There are two sets of eyes on me. They stare at me from across a desk littered with papers and some contraption that whirs loudly every few moments. It is the only noise in the room. No one is speaking.

The room is stifling. My hair begins to stick to my forehead and the pale blue t-shirt I have been shoved into is clinging to my skin. The chair is too tall for me. My toes scrape the rough carpet as my legs dangle. I so desperately want my legs to stop dangling so I place my hands on my knees. It does nothing. There is a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It is not pain but something that comes with it. I am afraid.

Brown eyes behind thick rimmed glasses are studying me. They belong to a man that looks familiar. I know I have seen his face before. I have felt his hands on my skin. When I remember touch I remember pain. But when I remember him I feel safe. The knots in my stomach begin to untie.

A small smile, just barely there, appears at the corner of the man’s mouth. Something about it tells me that everything will be alright. Then I look at the other man behind the desk.

He is older than the brown eyed man. His grey hair is slicked back with something that makes it look wet. There is a frown instead of a smile. His lips are turned down so severely that they dig deep caverns into his skin. His eyes are nearly the same brown as the man beside him except his glare is cold. This man creates more knots in my stomach. I can’t help but to push myself farther back into the chair.

“Do you believe she remembers?” The grey haired man’s voice is just as cold as his eyes. It is sharp and deep. It sends a shiver of fear through my chest. He does not look away.

The man with the soft smile and warm eyes shakes his head but I am the only one that sees. “She was taken care of immediately after the incident.”

I have no idea what they are talking about. When I try to think back to what this incident could be all I see is black. There is a faint whisper. The voice of someone that sounds desperate. It’s the voice of a female. I try my hardest to hear what she is saying but my memory won’t allow it. I give up when the cold man speaks again.

“Are you sure she does not remember?” There is a bite of anger in his voice that has me glancing away to a wall covered in framed papers.

“Patient 83067 was interrogated extensively before a nurse administered the serum. She was only able to recall eyes above her.”

Something sparks within me. Eyes. I can remember eyes. It’s a blurry picture in the depths of my mind. These eyes could be blue but they also could be green. They swirl in my memory, fading in and out like a dream I am clinging on to. I do not know if this memory is real or if I want it to be. The man that makes me feel safe is looking at me with wide eyes. It is as if he is pleading with me, pleading with me to remember. I wish I could tell him that I could but I do not understand what he really wants. I want to apologize.

One of them makes a clicking sound with their tongue. I am sure it is the man that frightens me. He sounds annoyed with the other man’s answer.

“She should not be able to recall anything.” His voices is falling farther and farther into something so cold that it reminds me of hate.

Why anyone would hate me is a mystery. I do not understand what I could have done. Nothing in my memory could answer that question. Could it be that they have stolen everything that happened in my past? There is nothing in my memory but a fog of greys and black.

“Her dosage was increased after Dr. Crane was removed. I have seen to her personally. Her long term memory is non-existent. As for her active memory, it has been reduced to a mere few seconds.”

This talk confuses me. I do not know what dosage they are discussing or what is reduced to seconds. I can barely remember why the man before me is angry. His tone rattles through me still but the words he used have blurred into a muted voice in my head.

There is a moment of silence before both men stand. One wears a suit the color of my memories. The other is in a white coat that gives me chills. His smile is not enough to ease my fear after I notice his coat. Though I cannot remember why, I know that color brings pain.

The man in the suit exhales loudly and glares at me once more. “She is your responsibility for now, Spelling. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the man in the coat nods. His eyes are no longer on me. “I will continue to increase her dose if you believe it necessary.”

“No, continue with the dose you have assigned her. If she shows any hint of remembering things from even an hour before then I want her contained.” The order was harsh. His voice was strong and bold. Contained does not sound pleasant. In fact it beings about a fear that shakes me more than the man in the white coat.

There is a choking sound that comes from the man in the coat. “C-contained, s-sir?” He gulps. I watch as his Adams apple bobs up and down in his throat once, then twice more. His eyes grow wide behind those glasses that reflect light. He seems almost as afraid as I feel.

The other nods once. “Inject her before taking her back to her room.” He throws one more glare my way before leaving the room briskly.

It seems as if everything settles once the man is gone. I can feel my shoulders sag with relief. I no longer feel as afraid as I once was. That is, until I realize the man in the white coat is fumbling with something at his desk. It’s a clear tube with a silver pointed needle. My body tenses. I can remember the pain, the burning itch that comes with forgetting.

I try to scramble away as the man approaches. My legs refuse to work. My feet scrape at the carpet below me but I cannot find purchase. The wooden arms of the chair keep me in my spot. I cannot escape their cage. I am stuck. My heart races. I can feel it in my chest as it gets harder and harder to breathe.

“Dee,” the man says as he kneels before me. I do not stop trying to escape. “Please, Dee, I need you to settle down.”

My mouth goes dry. I desperately lick my lips and try to speak. “P-please.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. I do not know what it means but I know it is the right thing to say.

He shakes his head and holds up the needle. It glints in his glasses but I cannot look away. I stop struggling. “Look,” he orders me as he thrusts it closer to me.

There is nothing in the tube like there should be. It is completely empty. No burning liquid that takes away my memories.

My eyes move from the syringe in his hand to the man himself. He brings one finger to lips in an order to be silent. I close my mouth tightly making sure that he sees. He winks and brings the needle to the crook of my elbow. There is a pinch as the needle is inserted just to make a mark. It is removed faster than when it is pressed into my skin.

I do not know what is happening but I do know that I will remember this.