In the morning he is gone like the petals of a dream drifting away. But I am still in his room. In his bed.

I lay there, staring at the place he had been, wishing that I had woken up before he left. He probably plans to come home, and see me here, waiting for him. I want to do that. I don’t want to leave now. Yesterday - Yesterday is a dream of what could have been. I run my hand over the space where he was.

Slowly, I force myself to sit up and stretch. I’ve become soft living in the clouds. This hard bed has left me stiff. As I start to swing my legs over to the side of the bed, my hand bumps into something that isn’t sheets on the bed. It crinkles, and I notice a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled handwritten note.

Had to go to work. We all sleep or work during the day. You shouldn’t run into anyone if you need the kitchen or bathroom. I left a breakfast bar and a cup of water for you next to the TV on the dresser. See you tonight.

I’m impressed he scrawled this out before work. I look around, and see the dresser with a small, old fashioned TV on it. It’s strange seeing a TV that isn’t built into the wall as part of a smart house. I get up and walk over to it. These devices used buttons instead of voice commands if I remember correctly. I can’t see any obvious buttons on the front, but while searching around the back I finally find a button to press. The TV suddenly comes to life. It’s on the same news channel I was watching. Luckily, the sound seems to be off or not working so it shouldn’t alert anyone here.

I probably should have thought about that before turning it on. Oh well, at least the sound was off and luck was on my side.

Closed captioning ran across the bottom of the screen. It seems watching sound off was the default mode that Nathan watches TV in.

I grab the granola bar next to the TV and the cup of water before walking back to the bed and sitting on it to watch the news.

They are covering the protesters again. Same old news regurgitated again.

And then across the screen scrolls “Breaking News: Governor Hope under investigation for being a jail lab rat. Assistant Patrick McNeil says experiment might have something to do with the memory sickness. Governor Hope is nowhere to be found for a comment.”

The jail! Patrick’s linked me to the jail. If he goes there, what will happen to me? What will happen to the Xatron still sitting in the jail? What will he do to it if he finds it?

I scarf down the rest of the granola bar, chug the water, and grab the piece of paper he left for me. There has to be a pen around here.

I get up and look around till I find it, sitting next to the TV where he left my breakfast. I scribble my own note on the back.

Patrick’s going to the jail. I have to get the Xatron machine out. I’m sorry. I wish I could be with you. Maybe after I protect the Xatron.

I debate if I should add more. There’s not much space. I don’t want to leave him, but I have to protect the Xatron. I add three more words.

I love you.

It feels strange to write them as I am running away, but I can’t leave it unwritten. He said this feeling is love, and I have to return it. I have to let him know that I do care, that I’m not purposefully leaving him again. That this torn feeling is killing me.

I put the pen and the note next to the TV. I grab my brown garment and throw it on over the blue dress. I braid and bun my hair, and then wrap the head scarf over my hair. I head to the door and pull on my boots. I’m ready for battle.

You stand in front of me, blocking my way. But I don’t care. I walk through where you exist, and leave. I look back, and you are following me like a lost puppy.

The outside is the same as yesterday, a sleepy decrepit old part of town, but I have no idea where to go to now. The jail should be on the outskirts, if I remember correctly, but where was that? I search through the memories that I stole from the guards, slowly building a route that I see them taking to get there. If I go to the market, there should be a public shuttle stop there. From there, it looks like two shuttle changes before I take a shuttle out to the jail.

People see me and look away, but I see them trying to sneak glances as I pass. Furtive looks to see what a “religious woman” looks like while attempting to pretend disinterest. These people are so silly to think that their obvious uncomfortableness with being openly religious wouldn’t be noticed.

The walk to the market square is an old memory, but it is still there, and I follow the route through the old run down neighborhoods.

The market is busy, just like any other day. People hawking their wares to passerbys. “Are you interested in an orange?” I hear a woman ask, but I pass by. I don’t have time to deal with other people. I have to get to the jail and public transportation isn’t fast.

I make it to the stop, and stand near the sign that marks where the shuttle will arrive. It doesn’t take too long before it shows up. It stops, and the doors woosh open. A mob of people exit, and then those of us at the station start getting on. People start getting on, and I check the memories to make sure I am the same as the others getting on.

One lady worrying, hoping she isn’t over charging her account when the camera reads her face… Oh! I can’t let the camera see me or Patrick will be able to find me. I read out with the imaginary hands, and imagine them blocking the view of me. They are a screen, showing the other side of the entry. I am but a space left between people.

I take a standing location near the door, continuing to block the sight of the camera with the hands. A hamer gently taps against my forehead, I wish I could fall asleep to escape this concentration, but I can’t. If I let up, they will see me. Facial recognition is stronger than makeup, and a little makeup won’t hide me from it.

Three stops. I have to hold this for three stops before I can take a break.

One.

People get off and on. I can’t let up even a little in case the cameras catch sight of an unexpected person on the shuttle.

Two.

Just one more stop.

Three.

I slip out with the couple of people that exit at this stop, and as the shuttle flies away, I let go of the screen. It feels like I’ve been holding an office chair over my head for the whole ride! I take a deep breath; roll my shoulders to release the tension and strain. I need some way to make this less mentally exhausting on myself for the next shuttle ride.

There are three cameras on the shuttle. One looking at the entrance, one looking at the back half, and one looking at the front half.

If I position myself so that only one of the inside cameras can see me and the others can’t, then I should be able to just disable that camera.

A shuttle comes, but it isn’t my route, so I back away to keep myself out of sight from its camera. People coming off the shuttle give me a strange look, and then continue on past me. No one stays at this stop to wait for a transfer. They all hurry off to do their own things.

A few people board. The shuttle speeds away along its magnetic lines.

Another shuttle comes, but it is also not my shuttle. This is the right stop, right? I check my memories and look around, yes this is the right stop.

The remaining people at the stop get on this shuttle, leaving me alone at the stop. What do I do if no one else is getting on? Will the shuttle be able to tell if I get on even if I have myself cloaked if no one else gets on?

Another shuttle pulls up to the stop, and this one has the right route number. It’s the shuttle I need. It stops and the doors open. I bring the imaginary hands back in front of my, imagining them cloaking me from view.

No one gets off the shuttle, so I quickly step on before the doors can close. I move to the back , holding my imaginary invisibility around me until I am only in view of one camera. Now all I have to do is disable that camera. I take a seat in one of the many empty rows.

I force myself to imagine yet another hand, and I feel like I am slipping. My stomach tries to hide from the feeling in my mind, but it can’t find anywhere to hide.

I have to reach that camera. I push the hand toward the camera while holding the cloak. My cloaking moves slightly toward the camera, the hand moving toward the camera drags the other with it. I can’t quite get the other hand to move away. My mind is splitting, or maybe it’s my skull. The further I stretch the hand, the more my head hurts. I clench my teeth together and force myself as quick as I can to reach out. I grab the cable at the back and pull it just enough to disconnect the camera, and then drop all the hands.

I hold my head in my two real hands. I haven’t had an issue with having a lot of the hands before, but then again I’ve only ever tried to do one thing at a time. I’ve never tried to hold an image in my mind and manipulate the hands to touch an object at the same time before.

This shuttle is quite empty. The few passengers don’t seem that interested in me. The buildings outside look like old high rise apartments. I guess we are heading into more of a residential area. Probably the opposite of where most people are going.

The shuttle slows. This is my next stop. I wrap the cloak around myself again; this feels easy now compared to the differing paths I just forced my brain to take. It slows and stops. I quickly step off. It looks like no one else is joining me in exiting the shuttle, and no one is boarding either. I’m lucky this shuttles auto stop at all stops. I’ve heard some express shuttles require people to request non-express stops.

It’s one more shuttle to the jail. One more chance to get caught. What if the shuttle doesn’t stop? It’s not that far away. I can walk. But will I beat Patrick to the jail walking. Will I be able to get to the Xatron in time? And do what? There was a reason I left it there previously. I guess I can sit there and defend the machine for as long as people attack me. But what if there is no end? Will it just be a siege? But I’m one mind. What happens when this body gives out? Do they destroy the machine and myself with it?

I start walking toward the jail. No point in waiting for that shuttle in the middle of the day when people aren’t trying to get to their jobs at the prison.

But what do I do when I get to the Xatron? Do I try and move it? If I remember correctly, it was hooked up to things, and moving it… If I turn off the power do I pass out? Would I just be gone? I wouldn’t be able to protect it in that state. And it was so large and bulky. Even if I continue consciousness, would I be in any state to move it? I probably wouldn’t have access to my memories if it’s not on.

I guess I’m down to barricading myself in the room and defending us. Myself and the machine. The thing that is probably also me. In the distance, I can see the jail. Its main tower that used to house me rises up above the downtrodden streets near it. Even the iron frames for the shuttle grid run along the ground in this area. A straight line, leading me toward the prison.

I notice the cameras on the streets, and hold up my hand cloaks to make the cameras see what is around me and not me. These cameras must be how Patrick identified me originally after we escaped. After leaving the prison the memories of getting away are hazy.

My head hurts, and I feel like I can’t hold this cloak anymore. If I could just break the cameras, everything would be so much easier, but I can’t alert Patrick yet. If I break the cameras; he’ll find me. I have to get there first.

Am I carrying something? I feel so tired, like this cloak weighs 100 pounds. The gate looks hazy, am I hallucinating now?

A person is walking up to me, “Hey, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

I need - I need- fuel. I reach one hand out, and grasp their shoulder. “Thank you.”

“What-” he starts to say, but I easily reach into his mind, and pull his memories into my mind. The cloak stabilizes and my vision becomes a bit less blurry. His memories won’t sustain me for long. I can see the family he provides for the wife who is ill. She smiles at him and calls him “Rich”. But I can’t help him. His vacant stare bothers me. I feed back his memories after stripping them of power. Everything up until today. And I leave him standing there lost and confused. At least he should still know his family’s names.

Another guard comes toward me. No, toward the guard I’ve left behind.

“Rich, what ya see buddy?” I hear him saying. He can’t see me now. The memory’s power is fueling my cloak again.

Rich turns slowly toward the man.

I need this man’s memories too. I walk up to him, and siphon off his memories. Art, his brother calls him. His mother calls him Arthur, and they all live near the prison. His whole family works at the prison, except for his mom who has the memory sickness. Her memories are in me too. I let him see his own life again. Giving him back his knowledge of events. Everything up to today.

Rich is looking at him. “Are you Art, the guard who works the shift with Rich?”

Art nods slowly. “I - I might be? Am I? How - how did he end up here?”

They seem to at least recognize each other. I walk away from them, toward the gate feeling stronger. How do I open it? It doesn’t look accessible from the outside. I drop my cloak. I can’t open the gate and hide at the same time. No point in hiding while opening the gate.

I reach out with my hands toward the gate and tug. It doesn’t budge. The mechanism holding it closed is strong.

“Hey, who are you? You can’t be this close to the gate without permission.” A voice comes over a speaker.

I ignore it and yank with all the strength in my imaginary hands. The mechanisms hold. I imagine that they are machines themselves with strong motors, stronger than the gates, and suddenly the gates start screeching open.

I walk through, and let go, but the gates don’t close behind me. They must be broken now.

“Stop or we will shoot.” I hear over the speakers. Bullets are nothing to me. But I do need to get inside now before they can stop me. I recloak and run for the entrance to the jail. A small door says “visitor entrance”.

I drop the cloak, smash the cameras I can see, and open the door while running.

I slip through and recloak. Cameras. Where are there cameras? I spot three. I drop the cloak and smash them with my invisible mechanical hands.

There are a couple people here. A woman in a uniform is in an encased booth with bars over the window. A piece of paper slips out of her frozen hand and flutters to the floor. Next to her booth is a door made of iron bars. The rest of the area is cinderblock walls. I just need to get through the door.

I reach out and with my strengthened hand, I grab the iron bards and wrench the door open. My head is pounding. I have to get to the Xatron. I have to get there before Patrick can harm me. I’m running.

A guard fires a shot at me, I block it. Block the successive shots afterwards as I run toward him. He starts ro reload, another guard is shooting at me, My barrier of hands protects me. I reach the first guard, and rip his memories from him, putting him in front of me. My head is pounding quite as much. I feed the memories back to him leaving out just today. I reach out for the other guard who is afraid to fire at his buddy and do the same thing to him.

I leave them there in their confused state as I run for the stairs. A camera. I smash it. I’m breathing hard, but I can’t stop now.

Three more guards. I block their shots and one by one I strengthen myself on their memories. I have to have the strength to fight Patrick, and fighting them takes so many memories.

Further in I see the door I am looking for. A camera is watching it, so I smash the camera and wrench the door to the stairs open. My lungs hurt. I haven’t run this much in awhile. I must get up these stairs.

I start running up the stairs, and every step feels painful. My legs are jelly. I slow to a walk pulling myself up the stairs. I can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. My hands can do nothing to get me up these stairs faster.

A camera, I reach out and smash it.

So many stairs. It was much easier to go down these than it is to go up.

No one seems to be on these stairs. Where are the guards?

As I reach each sequential floor, I destroy the camera looking at the door. One after the other. Up and up. The memories of the day I left remember the floor I need, but it feels so far away.

I whittle the distance step by painful step, pulling myself up by the hand rail. Where are the guards? Where is anyone? It doesn’t matter. I have to get to the Xatron. I wish I could see through the camera system to make sure that no one has gotten to the Xatron yet, but the hands do not provide that ability. It is strange that I can look into people’s memories, but not into the cameras. It probably has something to do with the fact that the Xatron is literally made to steal memories from people and that the power for my hands has to come from somewhere. Or maybe it has to do with my understanding of the cameras. No time to think about that now.

I have to get to the Xatron’s floor. I’m almost there. One more flight of stairs. I focus on the door. My lungs feel like they are being ripped to shreds. I’m almost there. Just a couple more steps.

I smash the camera that looks at the floor where I was once kept. I have to stop and breathe. But I need to keep going. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breaths. My hands on my knees, doubled over trying to support myself as I gasp for air. It takes a moment, but I manage to control my breathing enough that I can keep going.

It’s only a short distance from here. I wrench open the door with my hands, pulling the frame with the door.

There’s a strange grinding noise in the distance. What is that noise and why is it coming from the direction of the Xatron?

I stumble into a shambling run. I shouldn’t have dallied at the top of the stairs! I have to get there! The noise gets louder as I get closer. I see the door to the Xatron. I try to rip it open, but it doesn’t want to budge. It’s stronger than the door at the stairs! I yank, but it doesn’t move. Wiat, if it’s locked, shouldn’t my hands be able to move the lock? I can reach through a human body to the heart, so why not through a door to the lock? How could I destroy strong locks though? What if I sawed through them? I imagined my hands as little saws, and then took the image I saw, and started sawing at the space between the door and the wall. The sound of metal screeching against metal makes me wince, but it is not my saw that makes the worst noise. Something in this room sounds horrid like dying shrieks of a shuttle being smashed into a building in a storm.

Hurry little hands! I imagine them moving so fast they are a blur. Quite quickly they are clear and striking the bottom of the door. I yank at the door again, and this time it swings open.

Patrick is there, a chain saw cutting away at my Xatron machine, his eyes look like the gazelle’s on the wall when they realize a lion is nearby; afraid and ready for flight.

My hands are there, a barrier against -

Against? Wait - what? Hands? Hands. Two ghostly pale hands, connected to a body. My body. Who am I? What is this place? A person stands in front of me. A person? I’m not quite sure. They stand behind the box, the box, its - its -

I don’t know. I don’t understand. “Who am I?” I ask this person in front of me.

Little squares of black fill my vision, and everything starts to dwindle away, until there is nothing left.