Page 18 of The Awakening

What am I supposed to do? How do I defeat this memory? Do I allow the tears to fall? Do I just stay put and build the wall around me so I can’t express the emotions that are quite literally shredding me apart on the inside? I don’t understand, why is this memory a test for me? The horrors have already taken place. I can’t change or alter anything. I can’t go back and kill Cara. I’m just stuck. Utterly stuck in this tragic memory of watching someone I love die in front of me.

I’m beginning to feel frantic, as if time is running out and I’m moments away from failing when suddenly, something catches my eye on Colson’s hip bone. A tattoo of a songbird that was once sprawled out across his lower abdomen is now sitting perched on a small branch; his wings no longer spread wide but tucked close to its body. I kneel beside him and wipe away the blood that’s caked on his skin. Examining the tattoo, I look at Arno with so much confusion as he stares down at me, not understanding what I’m doing.

“What is it, Sloan?” he says to me in his deep voice. Quickly, I examine the rest of his body, wiping blood as I go, trying to review all the tattoos I know he has. The star constellation that peppered his left forearm used to have exactly twelve small stars, each one different in size. However, looking at Colson’s arm now, there are only ten stars.

“This isn’t possible,” I say to myself as I frantically continue across his body. Colson has a scar behind his left ear. It’s in the shape of a fishhook, almost. He told me he received it on one of his jobs that went wrong. While trying to escape, he was sent through a glass window that left him with a deep gash behind his ear, thus scarring into this very specific shape. I turn his limp body to the side and when I pull back his ear, there is no scar. The skin is smooth and untouched. I then grab his face and pry his mouth open, expecting to see a tongue ring present, but again there’s nothing. No ring, no evidence that a ring was ever there.

What the fuck is going on?

I think of one last thing, as I place two of my fingers down on the sparrow tattoo over Colson’s hip and press down. When I drag my finger along the skin, black ink follows, smearing across his skin and ruining the artwork. I stand in an instant, my eyes looking behind me to Everett and Dean, but the two of them are still unconscious. Then I turn to Arno in a hurry, grabbing him by the shoulders as I get in his face.

“This isn’t Colson!” My screams echo through the air as if I’m screaming the words over and over and over again.

“This isn’t Colson!”

A bright white light shines through the room, causing me to close my eyes as the realization of this moment hits me like a Louisville Slugger to the back of my head. My breathing is ragged and I’m trying desperately to blink the blindness away.

“Sloan, Sloan, look at me, open your eyes!” a faint voice bellows to me as I try to obey their commands.

When the silhouette of a man appears in front of me, I burst out to whomever it is, “It wasn’t Colson!”

When I finally get my vision back, Arno is standing in front of me. His face contorted in confusion as he holds me still in his hands.

“Sloan, what are you talking about? It was just a memory,” he says to me, his voice soft and sympathetic. He must think I’m absolutely crazy and in such denial that I’m spitting out this nonsense, but I continue to try to explain frantically. I push away his hands and stiffen my spine as I look up at him, my heart racing and thoughts of Colson still being alive flooding my brain.

“That wasn’t Colson on the plane. I didn’t notice it before, but his tattoos weren’t real, they were all wrong, and he didn’t have a tongue ring and his scar—it wasn’t there, it was gone!” My words are flying out of my mouth when Everett and Dean burst through the simulation room door. I take in another deep breath as I eye them both.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean shouts, both of their gazes bouncing from Arno to me. I move past Arno, my hands now shaking as I try to explain what I saw in the simulation.

“It wasn’t Colson on the plane. It must’ve been someone else. His tattoos were fake, all of them, and he didn’t have a tongue ring. All the ink wiped away with my fingers. It’s not him.” I’m pleading with the guys to believe me; I need someone to believe me. Colson could still be out there.

“Listen, little one, you were in a simulation, a memory, a dream. The technology can’t get it right all the time. Tattoos, facial features, and tongue rings can all be distorted. The machines go off your memory, so if you remembered something wrong, it would take that into consideration.” Arno’s voice is low and full of sadness as he speaks behind me. I’m still looking at Dean and Everett as I silently beg them to believe me.

“What if I’m right, though? What if whoever’s in the grave is not Colson and he’s still out there?” The room is so silent, so painfully silent, I can hear my own heart banging in my chest. “Please, you have to believe me. I know all of Colson’s tattoos by heart. I would always trace them with my finger when we fell asleep together. He loved the feeling.” I hold back my sob. “I can tell you every tattoo he has, where it’s at, and what it looks like. I promise.”

“Arno, can the simulation be wrong? Can it interpret a memory and fill in the blanks with what it thinks is right?” Everett asks in a stern voice, his eyebrows pinched so hard together that the creases in his forehead appear.

“No, it’s designed to only project what the memory is, such as what Sloan remembers or saw. It can’t input information such as a fake tattoo just to piece the memory together,” Arno replies.Sweat is beading across my hairline now; my insides are rattling, and my fingers are going numb. I sense as though I may have a panic attack with this new realization.

“So, you’re saying, if Sloan says she saw fake tattoos, or no scars, or no piercing, that’s exactly what she saw that day?” Dean asks as we all stare at Arno for his response.

“Yes, if she said that’s what she saw in the simulation, that’s what she would have seen that day. The mind sometimes sees things but doesn’t comprehend them right away. A situation can be so traumatic that the brain doesn’t have the capacity to register everything at once. Our minds keep things in our subconscious until triggered again, such as this simulation of the event.”

Bile rises up in my throat and my legs feel as though I’m about to fall. Colson could still be alive. “How do we know this for sure?” Everett says in a low hoarse voice, anger slowly rising as the vein in his neck grows thicker. Arno is staring at Everett, the answer on his tongue but not wanting to say it.

“Fuck, mate, spit it out!” Dean’s voice startles me, making me jump at his side. Arno inhales a deep breath, his eyes closing as he rubs down his face with his hands.

“Fuckkkk, we’d have to dig up the grave to verify.”

The room goes black, and I’ve completely lost all function of my legs as my panic attack takes over, and I lose consciousness right then and there.

* * *

I awaken to the sound of several voices bouncing back and forth from either side of me. Everything sounds so far away, like I’m in a long, narrow tunnel. Peeling open my eyes, I see the outline of a man sitting at my feet. I lift my hand to rub my face and notice I’m lying on a plush sofa.

Colson.

Sitting straight up, I see it’s Dean sitting at my feet, his face suddenly turning to face me as I quickly spring forward.

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