Amnesia

She awoke suddenly, as if startled by a shriek or howl, but the room was still. Her fingers were clenching the crib’s bars and her torso was draped over one side, leaning awkwardly toward the mess of blankets in the middle. As she unwound backward, the recirculating blood set off tingling pins in her upper half and her head swept with dizziness. She grabbed the top rail for support, but her fingers were numb, not her own. Disconnected, in vertigo, the room swam horizontally for a few revolutions until she collapsed. She closed her eyes to stop the movements, but the black mass behind her eyes whirled dimly. Warm hands cupped her cheeks, stroked her forehead.

“Srenda, dear, are you all right?” She recognized her husband’s hushed voice and spoke back to him across the dark void.

“Troy? Our baby’s gone! Where is he? Did someone take my baby boy?” She heard a sharp intake of breath, a vacuum sucking her attention toward it. The fingers loosened their grip momentarily, then molded around the base of her skull.

“Oh, Srenda, don’t you remember? Our boy was so sick...too sick, in fact. Our good doctors, they took him away while we were in the hospital. Sent him to a good place to make him feel better, to end his pain.” Srenda released a sigh. She felt the corners of her mouth draw upward slightly, her mind relaxing.

Troy’s voice softened further in response. “We couldn't have given him a proper life, understand? Not in our home nor anywhere in our community. And the world outside this tight-knit haven is toxic, unlivable for the sick. We did the right thing. I work so hard to make our home safe for you and our beautiful daughter.”

“Zenobia?”

“Yes. Don’t forget her, darling. We can always make another little boy. We still have one vacant spot in our family. In fact, our leaders are encouraging it. Two for every household. Two healthy babies to continue the bloodline. So don’t worry yourself, dear. The doctors took care of him. He’s not our problem, anymore. We’ll make a new little boy soon. A perfect boy. You’ll see.”

“Oh, thank heavens, Troy! The doctors are keeping him safe. Can I visit him once he’s better? I’d so like that...”

“NO! Wait...” Troy’s voice faded away and his embraced evaporated. She was once again floating blind in the murky ether, but this time severed from her physical self.

…

Many tall figures in long white coats loom over a toddler in red overalls. They form a semi-circle around him as the boy crawls on all fours and pushes himself up with much effort. He wobbles, walks a few steps. His left knee buckles and he falls. The toddler’s cheeks are rosy with effort. Several of the figures shake their heads, other scribble on pads. The boy rolls onto his side, then climbs into a crawling position, commencing his same attempts at walking. This time, when he slumps to the ground again, the toddler cries out.

“Mommy!”

Tears bulge over his flushed cheeks. The figures shake their heads more frantically and move forward, closing the gap in the circle. The toddler and his cries are muffled.

…

    “Mommy! Wake up!” Srenda opened her eyes, squinting under the bright illumination. She is lying on a cushioned chair in the solarium, her feet propped up on an ottoman. She glances with narrowed eyes at the door, sees her young daughter standing firmly in the archway, her arms crossed, looking as severe as possible for an nine-year-old.

    “Come on, mommy. You’ve been sleeping all day. I want someone to play with.”

    “Ach! I can’t think with this light bearing down on me, Zenobia! Hit the black switch on the wall. It’s too sunny in here.”

    Zenobia wrinkled her nose at first, then changed her mind. “I guess...”

Once she skipped over and flipped the switch, the windows darkened, exposing a gray exterior dense with smog, the glass partially fogged with chill. Srenda used her sleeve to rub away the condensed water, clarifying the window nearest her chair.

    “That’s better. I’m going outside today.”

    “But it’s yucky out there. You should stay inside with me and play instead.”

Srenda turned away from the window to face the girl with short, straw-colored hair and azure eyes. Zenobia twirled her locks through her fingers as she waited impatiently for a response. She’d picked this habit up from her father. Her daughter not only took after him in looks, but in gestures, as well. This revelation startled Srenda somehow, sent a current of nausea surging upward from her navel. She looked away, taking a few deep breaths until it passed. Gazing once more at Zenobia, she felt a sudden coolness toward her child.

    “I have important business. Why don’t you play with your father?”

    “Daddy left with some men in dark clothes. He said he’d be back tonight and not to wake you up because you need rest, but I got bored waiting for him.”

    “Zenobia, I can’t play with you today. I have to find your little brother and bring him back home.”

    “My little brother?” The girl furrowed her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. “But daddy told me that the nice doctors had to take him away to make him all better. He said I couldn't see my baby brother ever again. Daddy promised he was in a better place.”

    “Yes. He was sick, but I’m going to bring him home now. He’s been gone too long. You want a little brother to play with again, don’t you?

    “Oh, yes, mommy! Yes, please!”

    “Good. Now run along.”

    Zenobia squealed, then rushed out of the archway, her steps thundering down the corridor.

Srenda rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, threw off her blanket and eased out of the chair. Her body felt heavy from too much sleep, almost like she’d been drugged. But she was resolved to get her baby back. Following her daughter’s path through the archway, she crossed the hall into her husband’s study and headed straight for their family safe. Initially, Troy had programmed it to open only for himself, but she’d convinced him an emergency would necessitate her having access to the documents within. Srenda squatted in front of the safe, her eyes level with the retinal scanner. The internal processor registered her official data, then unlocked itself. Inside, she found a large stack of folders. Rifling through them, what she found mostly pertained to financial assets, receipts, proofs of purchase, official transactions, but near the bottom was a manila folder with strictly personal information. Therein contained copies of medical records, birth certificates, wedding certificates, and doctors bills. Here she discovered what she sought--a bill made out to her husband with her baby listed as the patient. On the first page was an address for Our Lady of Perpetual Hope, the medical facility that administered the treatment. The name sounded cheery. Perhaps it was a rehab center, a sanctuary for the ill and downtrodden. She folded the multi-paged bill twice, stuffing it in her pocket. Everything once-more secured, she left their high-rise flat. On the ride down to the bottom level, she buzzed the doorman.

“Syd, it’s Srenda, Troy’s wife. Can you ready a vehicle for me? I’m on my way down.”

“Err, ma’am...I thought ya was suppose’ to be on bedrest. Your husband said you’d been feeling ill of late.” He paused, breathing heavily. “Said not to let ya leave, so as not ta make ya any more sick.”

Srenda’s faced flushed in protest, irked at her husband’s orders. Yet, she never let on her true apprehension. “Why, that’s sweet of him, Syd, but I’m feeling much better now. As a matter of fact, I’m headed out to buy some lingerie as a surprise for my husband. You wouldn’t want to ruin that gift, would you? That would make him most unhappy.”

“Course not, ma’am. I’ll have a G-Stat car ready for ya. See ya soon.”

When the elevator doors finally slid open, the doorman stood perfectly composed, his eyes cast respectfully downward, as if their conversation had never happened. One gloved hand gripped the entrance door’s gilded handle, extended wide, revealing her waiting transport. In the other dangled the micro-chip, attached to a keyring, that unlocked her vehicle.

Syd reached out to hand Srenda the chip, but stopped short. He coughed loudly to clear his throat. “Ma’am, eh, ya know how to use this, right?” Srenda merely arched an eyebrow.

The door man continued. “Well, let’s see here, ya just unlock the G-Stat with this here micro-chip,” he said, shaking the keychain gently. “Once you’ve opened the transport door, stepped inside and strapped yerself in, ya just push the big red button to get ‘er started. After that, alls ya got ta do is enter yer address into the console and it’ll map the coordinates and take ya there no questions asked.” Syd stood back and smiled, looking content with his explanation.

“Seems simple enough. Now, lend me the keys and I’ll be on my way.”

“Sure, sure.” Another pause. “One more thing, though.”

Srenda could feel her temples tightening as a stress-induced ridge formed on her forehead. “What?”

Syd reached behind him, into a little nook and pulled out a large, clear mask with a breathing component and multiple straps. “Gotta wear this here gas mask, ma’am. Fasten it on like so.” He mimed it to her with a few simple gestures. “Your husband’s orders. Can’t have ya getting exposed to what them vagrants is throwin’ at each other, plus the air’s plain dirty out there. S’not what it used ta be, back when we was younger.”

“Ugh, fine.” She reluctantly snatched the gas mask, then the chip from this hands. “But I’m not putting that thing on until I step out of the vehicle.”

Once in the G-Stat, she smacked the button and punched in the address for the facility. The console whirred to life, calculated her data and after a few moments propelled the vehicle forward, set on auto-pilot. On the ride over, Srenda amused herself by staring out the window. The further they climbed away from her community, a cluster of high-rises flanked by government and corporate skyscrapers, and descended into the pits of the expansive capital, the darker the cabin’s interior became. As the G-Stat flew through a palpable haze, the windows began sweating, developed a layer of toxic condensation that limited her sight of the surrounding area. She caught flashes of purple and yellow, neon bulbs reflecting gaseous advertisements. They glittered on the droplets clinging to her window as she passed by, though the smog concealed their messages.

After some time, her thoughts turned to her boy, her husband. Why had Troy allowed the doctors to take their little boy away for so long? She didn’t remember sending him away for good. After all, their son wasn’t that sick. She remembered his shining, rosy face, his chubby pink fingers, his cute waddle while he was learning to walk. He fell a lot, but wasn’t that normal for a toddler? She pondered this anomaly, searched her memories for why her son disappeared, but couldn’t locate a concrete reason. As she considered this flaw in logic, she grew furious, suspicious of her husband. Was he jealous of her love for their little boy? Did he take him away on purpose? She considered leaving her husband once she found the boy. How could she live with such a morally gray person, a man who’d send his child away for no reason? She was saved from further contemplation when the vehicle began decelerating, then halted all movement.

Through the foggy glass she could make out a tall fence with a closed gate. Securing her mask, she stepped out onto slick cement. The fence was fashioned with wrought iron, nearly ten feet tall and lined with electric wire at the top. She noticed an deep indentation to the left of the gate on one of the brick columns. Peering inside, she saw a blank screen mounted in the hole. Without activating anything, the display switched on, revealing a round, fleshy face with small, square teeth.

The face spoke. “Good day. How can I assist you?” Though the words were cheery, they couldn’t mask the person’s shrill falsetto. She cringed inwardly, hoping the pitch was only for cordiality’s sake.

“Ahem. Yes. I’m looking for a medical facility called Our Lady of Perpetual Hope. Is this the correct establishment?” Srenda clasped her hands together tightly.

“Correct.” Still no change in pitch.

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Nurse Constance Barge. And you are...?”

“Mrs. Srenda Mason.”

The nurse replied with a long, drawn out “Ah,” followed by a brief pause to catch her breath. The face backed away from the camera slightly, enough for her to catch straight, mousy hair and bushy eyebrows. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Good to see you, of course. De-lighted.”

Srenda uttered a short, self-assured laugh. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I’ve never been here before. You must have mistaken me for my husband, or maybe some other woman.”

For the first time since the the screen had flashed on, the woman’s voice lowered considerably. “Certainly not. I could never forget you, Mrs. Mason.” Constance backed away from the display again. Her eyes were narrowed, serious, judging. “See...you are a special breed of woman.” Her voice returned to a normal pitch, somewhere between the previous falsetto and recent alto. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Srenda scoffed loudly. “I have no idea idea what you’re talking about. You must be mistaken. I am here to retrieve my baby son. I know he is here at your facility somewhere.”

“Listen, Mrs. Mason, there is nothing...”

“NO! You listen, Constance. I demand you bring me to my son...and right this instant.”

Constance sighed. “Fine. As you wish.”

The display cut out. Srenda heard a heavy click as the gate unlocked. She pushed against the iron and it swung smoothly inward. Inside was a short gravel pathway that led to the entrance, which was only a few yard away. Above the doorway, etched in granite was the phrase “E pluribus unum.” She recognized it from the display case in her husband’s study. It was written on some old, paper currency he collected there as a keepsake. He’d reminded her multiple times that it meant “Out of many, one.” She never did care much for Latin, so hadn’t taken it to heart. She thought it seemed out of place above a medical building, especially one with a Catholic name. When she reached the door and went inside, she found herself in a tiny, bare waiting room attached to a glass-shielded front desk. The bloated, splotchy woman behind the desk smiled at her. She recognized the small teeth and mousy locks from the display.

“Hello again, Mrs. Mason. As I was saying outside, we...”

Srenda crossed her arms emphatically through the air. “Wait! I don’t want to hear it. Take me to my boy. Now. Let me inside.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Only patients and family are allowed inside.”

“But, my baby...”

Constance interrupted her: “is not inside.”

“Then you must have him somewhere else. At another facility, maybe. Surely he’s been transferred. Let me speak with a doctor.”

“No. Listen, Mrs. Mason. You seem to have forgotten, ahem, the reason for your last visit. How shall I say this...”

“I demand you stop all this nonsense. I will not be lied to in such a lowly manner. Give me my baby! I want my baby NOW!” A singular vein outlined itself, throbbing intensely on Srenda’s forehead. Her face, neck and chest bloomed fuchsia.

Constance puffed up. “QUIET! Quiet, I say, or I’ll have to call the guards.” Srenda took a series of deep breaths and remained silent. “Good. Now, if you’ll follow me outside, I can show you something. Something that will set things straight. Okay?”

“I just want my little boy back...please.”

“Follow me then.” Constance reached in a drawer and pulled out another breathing mask. She loosened the straps to fit over her plump face and stretched it on tightly, then shuffled out to the waiting room. Once outside, the nurse headed toward the backside of the facility through a narrow alleyway and Srenda followed, taking pains not to step on her heels, since the woman walked slowly. At the end of the passage, they rounded a corner into a broad courtyard filled with dense smoke. The smoke was pouring from a chimney attached to a massive, metal incinerator. A bulky man wearing black overalls was manning the machine. He was sweaty and covered in soot. He didn’t seem to notice them. Constance edged to the side of incinerator and reached down to the ground. With both hands she scooped through the ash pile and turned toward Srenda, her palms upturned.

    “Why are you showing me this?”

    “Look more closely.” Srenda leaned into Constance’s hands, stuck her finger in the ash and felt something hard. She picked it out and looked closer. It was a bone fragment. Srenda’s heartrate sped up involuntarily.

    She pointed at the man, the machine. “Constance...what do you burn in this thing?”

    “Broken, unwanted things. Anything deemed imperfect, unfit, weak. Things people want us to dispose of for them. People like you and your husband pay us to do this.”

Srenda looked incredulous. “Like ME? My husband? I...he...we would never. NEVER.”

“You wanted to find your baby boy, Mrs. Mason? He’s in your hand right now. Well...heh...part of him at least.”

She looked down at the bone, halted all movement. All her color filtered out; she looked blanched. After a few petrified minutes, a bout of trembling wound through her. She almost dropped the bone. Constance grabbed her roughly by the wrist.

“If it makes you feel better, it was mostly your husband’s doing. Thing is...you went along with it. We had to give you a sedative afterward to settle you down, but you stood by and let him sign away your son’s life. All in the name of perfection. He...you...you both couldn’t handle a handicapped son.”

Gallons of tears formed in Srenda’s eyes.

“So...there you have it. The truth.” The nurse paused for a few minutes, staring into the woman’s face, looking for a rationalization, but found none. “I have nothing more to say to you.” Constance dropped her wrist forcefully and trudged inside the building through a backdoor.

Srenda stood there for a while, not moving, and continued to cry. Eventually, she turned around and walked back the way she’d came. When she arrived at her vehicle Srenda reached up and ripped off the gas mask, tearing out bits of her hair in the process. She threw it down at the foot of the transport and headed into the belly of the capital’s  slums.