What Was Left Behind

Chapter 22: The Origin

Flashback

The soft hum of machinery filled the air, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Maia was seven years old, sitting in the corner of her father's office, her small legs swinging back and forth beneath the chair. The room smelled of leather-bound books and faintly of antiseptic, the sharp scent of the medical equipment her father had meticulously lined along the walls. His office was always cold—too cold—but Maia didn't mind. She loved being near him, even if he never seemed to look up from his work.

Her father sat behind his large oak desk, bent over a stack of papers, his pen moving swiftly across the pages. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration, his glasses slipping down his nose. Maia had seen him like this a hundred times before—lost in his work, the world outside of his experiments forgotten. Even at that age, she knew her father was a man of secrets.

"Daddy?" Her voice was small, hesitant. She had been sitting there for almost an hour, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to tell her that it was okay to come closer. But he hadn't. He never did.

Dr. Lockhart's pen paused for a moment, hovering above the paper, but he didn't lift his eyes to her. "What is it, Maia?" His voice was calm, measured, as it always was.

"Can we go home now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was late—past dinnertime—and the shadows outside the tall windows had grown long and dark. She was hungry, and her mother had called earlier, asking when they'd be back.

Her father let out a long breath, setting the pen down carefully beside the papers. He leaned back in his chair, finally looking at her, though his expression was distant. "Soon," he said, though the word felt empty, like it always did.

Maia's small fingers twisted in her lap. "Why are you always working here? Mommy said you're doing important things... but I miss you."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—was it guilt? Annoyance? Maia couldn't tell. He stood slowly, his tall frame casting a shadow over her as he walked to the window, staring out into the dark night.

"I am doing important things, Maia," he said quietly. "Things you'll understand when you're older. This work... it will change everything."

Maia frowned, pushing herself up from the chair and walking over to him. She was small for her age, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to see out of the window like he did. The darkness outside seemed vast, endless, but her father's voice drew her back, cold and distant.

"You're going to help me with it one day," he continued, his eyes never leaving the night sky. "You have no idea how important you are to all of this."

Maia's chest tightened. She didn't understand what he meant, but the way he said it made her uneasy. "Me?" she asked, her voice soft. "How am I important?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, Dr. Lockhart turned to look at her, his eyes sharp, focused in a way that sent a chill through her. He knelt down, bringing himself to her eye level, but the distance between them still felt too great.

"You're special, Maia," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You're part of something far bigger than you realize. One day, when you're ready, you'll understand. And you'll thank me for it."

The words made Maia's stomach twist. She didn't want to be special—not in the way he was talking about. She just wanted her father back, the man who used to take her for ice cream, who used to laugh and tell her stories before bed. But that man had been gone for a long time, replaced by this stranger who spoke in riddles and promises that she didn't want to hear.

"I don't want to be special," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just want you to come home."

Dr. Lockhart's face softened, just for a moment. He placed a cold hand on her shoulder, the weight of it heavy and unfamiliar. "You don't understand yet, Maia," he said gently. "But you will. One day, you'll see that all of this is for you."

Maia swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "But I don't want it."

Her father's hand dropped from her shoulder, and his expression hardened again. "You don't have a choice."

The memories shifted, and suddenly Maia was older—thirteen now, standing in a sterile, white room deep within the facility. The machines around her hummed with quiet power, the faint beeping of monitors filling the air. Her father was there, standing over one of the metal beds where a man lay unconscious, wires attached to his head, the soft glow of monitors illuminating his pale face.

"This is the future, Maia," her father said, his voice full of cold certainty. "Do you see? The mind is not as fragile as we once believed. It can be shaped, molded, controlled."

Maia's throat tightened as she stared at the man on the bed. His chest rose and fell slowly, but there was no other sign of life in him. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"He's a volunteer," Dr. Lockhart said, his voice calm. "He agreed to be part of these trials. We're testing a new form of memory manipulation. If this works... we can erase trauma, reshape the past, even eliminate fear."

Maia's stomach churned. "And if it doesn't work?"

Her father's eyes flickered with something dark, something unsettling. "Then we'll try again."

The man on the bed twitched slightly, his eyelids fluttering as if he were trapped in some kind of nightmare. Maia felt a wave of nausea roll through her, her hands trembling as she watched her father adjust the settings on the machine.

"I don't want to do this," Maia whispered, stepping back from the bed. "This isn't right."

Dr. Lockhart's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a grip that was too tight, too firm. "You will do this, Maia. This is your future—whether you like it or not."

Maia yanked her arm free, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts. "I don't want it," she gasped, her voice trembling. "I don't want any of this!"

Her father's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You were born for this. Everything I've done—everything I'm doing—is for you."

Tears filled Maia's eyes as she backed away from him, her heart pounding in her chest. "No. It's for you."

Dr. Lockhart said nothing, but the cold, unyielding expression on his face told her everything she needed to know. She wasn't his daughter, not really. She was his project, his legacy.

And there was no escaping it.

Maia jerked awake, her heart racing, the memories of the past still vivid in her mind. Her father's voice echoed in her ears, haunting her. You don't have a choice.

Her hands shook as she wiped the sweat from her brow, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had been a child, trapped in his web of lies, his monstrous ambitions. And now, even after everything, she was still running from him—from the shadow he had cast over her life.

But she wouldn't run anymore.

She would end it.