Bitch-on-ice—Nancy Pierce. My mind went back to Lorna’s dream—Missy.
“Laurel’s whole life,” Mason continued, “has been about helping people. Even as a kid, she’d accompany her dad—”
“Lorna told me,” I interrupted, trying to move his story forward.
“Okay, so when she was an undergrad, Laurel was selected for a project. It was very secretive.”
“That’s where she first heard the theory that led to her compound.”
“Right,” Mason confirmed. “The project was cut short. She eventually made it her life’s work to do what that project didn’t accomplish, or what she thought it didn’t.”
“But it had succeeded.”
“Right again, but it was so top secret, no one outside the Order knew about it.” He tapped his chin as he tried to put it all into words. “I can’t fully remember, but whatever I was given wasn’t a onetime dose. And it didn’t eliminate only recent memories. It took them all—every fucking one. I was a man with absolutely no past other than what I was told.”
I had never had this specific conversation with Mason. My knowledge came through Lorna and comments Mason had made on and off. Though he hadn’t told me all of this history, he’d been completely open with Sparrow. Patrick and I made a pact not to push. Maybe now was the time to start. “Yet you knew how to soldier. You knew languages. You knew technical maneuvering. You knew how to kill.”
“I was retaught.” Mason shook his head. “The Order determined that reteaching what someone previously knew has been more effective than teaching someone who never knew. It’s the premise upon which they select the soldiers they do. Each one has the knowledge and abilities the Order wants; the soldiers just need to be reminded.”
“Lorna remembers everything from before we all went to the ranch,” I said. “Everything.”
Mason nodded. “That’s what fascinates Laurel. At the Sparrow Institute she’s made progress toward reaching the place she had been at the university, but this drug—whatever the ladies were given—is more refined or fine-tuned.”
“So if they’re ahead of Laurel on their compound, why do they want her?”
“We don’t know,” Mason admitted. He pulled a hair tie from the pocket of his jeans and secured his hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m headed to the docks. Learn everything you can about Jettison. Laurel brought my memory back by bringing back my past. If you really want to fuck Jettison, do the same. Remind him of who he was before you kill him for good. If you kill him as he is today, it won’t make a damn bit of difference.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has nothing to lose. He’s already dead.”
As Mason began to walk away, the cold reality of his words settled over me. I watched as he scanned his retina to open the steel door. “Mason, Lorna needs to know about Nancy.”
“It can fucking wait.”
“I don’t think it can. I’d be happy to bury it and her, but that’s not fair to Lorna.”
“Let me face Top first. Then I’ll face my sister.”
It was easy to think first and foremost of Lorna, but the man walking away had lived two lifetimes. He, too, deserved to face the reality of Nancy in his own time. “Fair enough.”
Lorna
Laurel opened the door to her apartment and gestured for me to follow. Whenever I entered one of the other two apartments, the difference in decor and personality always struck me. Essentially, we all had the same floor plan except ours was the mirror image—flipped. Still, we all had a living room and dining room that flowed into our kitchen. We also all had a master bedroom suite, two additional bedrooms, an office, and an exercise room. Laurel and Mason had made one of the spare bedrooms into an office for Laurel. She’d shown it to me a while ago.
I stopped and took in the view, the other amenity we all enjoyed from our walls of windows. Laurel and Mason’s living room and master bedroom looked out onto the Great Lake. After Mason died, Reid and I discussed switching apartments as ours lacked the lake view. It truly wasn’t much of a discussion. This apartment was Mason’s. I wanted and needed to begin my life with my new husband in what would always be our home.
“May I get you anything?” Laurel asked.
“Is it too early for alcohol?” Since we had just finished breakfast, my question was meant as rhetorical.
Laurel smiled. “There are no wrong answers or questions in therapy.”
The word made me shudder. “Is this...that—therapy?”
“We can call it whatever you want, but I don’t want to mislead you. I want to help you, as a friend and as a person educated in psychology and psychotherapy. And whether it’s me or someone else—Araneae has some fantastic therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists on staff at the Sparrow Institute—I think talking to someone is best. With the knowledge that stays in this tower, I volunteer to be that person. But I’m sure Patrick could vet the right therapist if you’d prefer.”
“I talk to Reid.”
Laurel smiled as she pointed toward the L-shaped sofas. Their walls were covered in a light shade of gray with white trim. Upon their walls were large photographs of Chicago and the ranch, in black and white. They fit perfectly with the clean minimalist decor.
“Well,” Laurel said, “we can sit here and watch a movie.”
“I want to talk. I think...” I began as I sat on the soft sofa. “I have questions about memories.”
“I’m going to get some more coffee. Are you sure you don’t want a cup?” she asked as she walked into the kitchen. “Memory is an all-encompassing subject. I’ll share what I can. What do you want to know?”
What did I want to know?
The list was long and the more questions I voiced, the more came to mind.
I appreciated Laurel’s candor. When she knew an answer, she gave it. When she didn’t, she didn’t try to sugarcoat or pretend that she had the answer wrapped in fluff. Her analytical mind knew more than I could comprehend. Maybe it was her years as faculty in higher education, but she had a wonderful way of explaining.
“How long can memories stay suppressed?” I asked.
“There’s no way to answer that.”
The clock moved and we continued to talk. Eventually, our conversation led to amnesia, how it occurred and why.
“You do realize,” Laurel said, “you and Araneae don’t fit into any of the categories I just mentioned.”
“You don’t think our minds are suppressing a traumatic experience or experiences?”
Laurel thought for a moment. “Lorna, I would never be dishonest with a patient or a participant. I won’t be with you.
“You and Araneae were taken from our ranch. You know that. We have seen the security video. You were both unconscious before the two men entered the kitchen.”
“Do you think we were drugged?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t been told.”
I lowered my feet to the floor and sat taller.
“A canister was found placed in the main house’s ventilation system. It had a remote start to release its contents of what is known as knockout gas. After we’d all eaten lunch, Madeline went upstairs to rest. I went to the office.”