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Paralyzed.
Frozen.
I couldn’t move. Who knew if it was the heat, the fear, or something else entirely? I knew it was inevitable at this point. How could I know, though, when it would happen? Or if it had happened already?
The man held the gun towards me with clammy hands. As if I even knew the origins of his feud with me. Certainly, though, he would shoot. I stood stock still, waiting.
And then it had already happened.
First, just pure shock. Then the searing, red-hot burn spread slowly through my shoulder. The rest of my body was free to move again, but now my shoulder seemed to be stuck in place.
Despite the fact that I was terrified to look, to inspect the damage, my hand rose of its own accord. Warm liquid slid between my fingers, and I pressed harder. It was painful, but something told me to push on the fresh wound.
My shoulder was numb and in burning pain at the same time. It was impossible to move.
I stumbled forward a little, praying for the feeling to go away. Breath hitching, I slowly dropped to my knees before the image before me began to slip away.
I groaned as I lifted my chin a bit, glancing around the darkened room. The bright red of the digital alarm clock pierced through my eyes and dug into my brain. It took me a moment to read what it actually said.
3:33 AM.
It’s one of those dreams.
I had been hoping this one was just a product of my hell brain, but no such luck. Now I had to go through the whole process of returning the memory to its rightful owner.
I should probably explain.
There are some people in this world that are a bit like… receptors. Occasionally, someone will lose a memory. An important one, think like a core memory from Inside Out. It goes to one of us. Inconvenient, but there are ways of giving it back.
It’s not an enjoyable process. First, I have to find to whom the experience belonged, which feels borderline impossible.
I stumbled out of bed and scrabbled around in my desk drawer for my second cellphone.
I’m not ashamed of being a Reciever. It’s just that it’s a little too, well, weird for most people. Easier to keep it under wraps.
I started by shooting Lisa a message. At almost sixty years old, she’s been doing this way longer than me.
Another dream. Gunshot in right shoulder. Subject is male, in late forties, has red hair and beard. Location: somewhere hot in the middle of a road.
Her response was fast, as usual. She never silences her phone, as the visions can come at any time. She’s got at least five of us under her wing.
Stop by at 4pm.
See you then.
Short and to the point, much like Lisa herself. She’s a no-nonsense kind of woman. Never even married, she’s dedicated to younger Receivers almost to a fault.
Knowing there was no way I’d be falling back asleep, I found my red notebook. That’s where I chronicle the dreams. I draw them, too, sometimes. Big, dark buildings. Elementary school hallways, but empty and just a bit off. Cars that I know are full of very dangerous people. Cliffs from which the plummet is inevitable.
Sometimes I sketch or describe the scene, other times I use abstract shapes and lines to try to capture the feelings.
Not that capturing them is easy. I am quite literally regularly thrown into other people’s memories, and that means that their state of mind is completely different from mine. It’s not easy to describe what it’s like to enter someone else’s head.
And before you ask, I have definitely been inside an insane person before. The subject featured in these dreams isn’t always the victim.
I finished scribbling furiously into the book, trying to hold onto as much as possible before it dissipated. Odds were, about 50% of this wouldn’t make any sense to me in a couple hours.
Downing a couple sleeping pills, I headed back to my bed, praying I’d fall asleep soon and trying to prepare myself for the massive headache I always seem to have when I wake up.
The next thing I knew was my alarm blaring, attacking my ears, the red light attacking my eyes. 6:00 AM. I rolled over, shoving my face in my pillow and willing the noise to stop.
Obviously, it did not. I had to heave myself out of bed and slam my fist on the snooze button before fumbling with the off switch.
I got dressed and grabbed my stuff, ready to head out for school.
Yes, I do go to school. I’m seventeen and a senior at Oak Ridge High School. I’m going to college next year. Sure, being a Receiver is rough, but I’m not going to let it take my life away.
School ends at 3:30. That’s why Lisa wanted me at four. That’s the earliest we could talk.
She rents a small space in a big building that’s behind a grocery store and within walking distance from my school. It smells fresh inside, and there’s a lingering scent of peppermint in the air. Don’t ask me where it comes from.
I pushed open her glass door, which reads,
Lisa Stuart.
By appointment only.
Fortunately for me, she asked me to stop by. As I stepped inside, she immediately popped her head out of the door to the little room and into the main area.
“Luke. Get in here.”
This is a standard greeting coming from Lisa. I followed her in, waiting for her to start bombarding me with questions. Her hands were neatly poised over the keyboard of her computer as she began.
She does have programs that track people with minimal information and are almost definitely illegal. I choose to turn a blind eye to that part of this operation.
“You get any names?”
“Nope.”
“What’d the shooter look like?”
“Male, pretty short, brown hair, clean shave. Probably around thirty. Looked anxious.”
Her fingers flew as she narrowed down the pool of possibilities. When she’d finished with her questioning, she had four names. I don’t know what I’d do without Lisa.
“Miachel Ray, Joseph Edwards, David Phillips, and Robert Walker,” she reads off. “I’ve got photos, if that helps.”
I looked at the screen, finding four men who all fit the bill. But, as always, one in particular stood out. Name and photo told me that this was our guy.
“Definitely Joe.”
“Alright. He lives right here in Texas, only about, say, a four hour drive?”
That’s not bad. I’ve had to fly overseas to return vital memories.
“When?” I asked.
“How’s Friday night? You can tell your mother you’re staying over at Carter’s.”
“Sounds good to me,” I told her, opening my cell to message my family and let them know where I’d supposedly be Friday night.
Friday always comes too soon.
I was in the passenger’s seat of Lisa’s van, back already cramping. Plus I felt the familiar sneaking guilt of lying to my family. Not that I wasn’t used to it. Checking my phone for the three hundred and thirty third time, I found that we still had a solid two hours left. I let out a quiet little groan.
Lisa just rolled her eyes. “Man up,” was her only suggestion.
We don’t usually talk on these trips. In fact, the only reason I don’t go alone is-
Well, you’ll see that soon enough.
As we pulled over at long last, Lisa quickly pointed out the house. I checked the time. It was nearly two am, and from all research and signs from the house, our friend Joseph was sound asleep.
It was a nice house. Blue paint. Manicured lawn. As I exited the car and moved discreetly toward the door, my eyes were drawn towards the lock. I’d most likely need to pick it, but first I checked under the welcome mat. You wouldn’t believe how stupid some people are.
Naturally, no spare. Someone who’s felt the burn of a bullet would know better. That was fine. I had my lockpicks on me.
It took me about ten minutes to get it open, my all time record being seven minutes. I knew Lisa was watching me this whole time, and would send a certain vibration pattern to the phone in my pocket in the case of a code red.
I slowly creaked the door open, finding myself in a musty entryway. The smell was immediately familiar to me, letting me know I had the right house. I gently shut the door behind me, scanning the house and trying to calculate the most likely layout.
I carefully padded down the hall, quietly peeking behind every door in search of my subject.
There was a little boy sound asleep in one of the rooms.
Lisa didn’t tell me Joseph had a son. I watched him sleep for a moment before resuming my search. I envied his innocence, a little bit. I’ve seen more than any one person ever should. I’ve been shot, raped, tortured, and even killed all in my visions. What I wouldn’t give to sleep peacefully, like little Joe Jr.
It didn’t matter. The point was to find the target. Finally, I pushed open a door to find a queen sized bed with a man and a woman asleep in it. I guess he’s got a wife too.
That didn’t matter. This needed all my focus.
I hated this part. Always have, always will. I gently placed my fingers on his temples, looking into his peacefully sleeping face.
Shutting my eyes, my lips began to move almost of their own accord. I knew that if I opened my eyes, I’d see a soft blue light surrounding his head.
Just a minute more. I always knew when I was done. It was like feeling the last of your energy sap out of you. After I finish returning a memory, I’ve only really got enough life in me to find my way back to the car before collapsing in exhaustion. That’s why we do missions in pairs, by the way. Why we can never go alone. It’s a two man job.
As I muttered the last of the words, I was nearly thrown back by the force. I opened my eyes, pulling myself together and stumbling towards the door. I gave them one final once-over before dragging myself out to the van.
Lisa immediately shut the door behind me, placing my seat belt, and administering the shot she always gives me right after a job. Only God and Lisa know what’s in there.
As I drifted off to sleep and Lisa put the car into drive, I glanced back at the house. Maybe old Joseph’s got his memory back, but I’ve still got a wisp.
Dreams from old jobs swirled through my mind, reminding me of things I wished I could forget.
Things I never should have seen.
I’m always left with the wisp of the memories.
And they’ll always haunt me.