Echoes

Lost and Found

"He did what?!"

Claudia stalked across Hope's small living room, her fists clenched, muscles tensed.

"Shoved me into the side of his car," Hope said between sniffs into Kleenex. A small mountain of crumpled tissues grew on the cushion next to her. With her free hand, she held an ice pack wrapped in a cloth against the patch of blue on her right side. "That's why I called."

"That motherf--"

"Claudia! It was a stupid move on my part. I was trying to turn off his engine so we could talk through what we were fighting about and--"

"What the hell, Hope? He pushed you. Into the metal frame of his car." Claudia pointed at Hope's ice pack. "That bruise on your side isn't some 'I was clumsy' bullshit, some 'I fell down the stairs' line. That's physical assault."

"His car's his baby. I knew better than to mess with that, and I accidentally turned the ignition and maybe damaged the starter, so..."

She trailed off and met Claudia's fiery gaze. Hope held it for a moment, then looked away. "You think I'm pathetic. He thinks I'm a prude and a waste of time. And I think my life is just falling apart in my hands, like a big pile of Play-Doh, except it's actually all crap, and god I need another drink."

She grabbed the wine glass and upended it, chugging down her fourth glass--fifth? Sixth? Who gives a crapth. The bottle on the coffee table felt light--wasn't it full a few minutes ago?--but it filled another glass just fine.

Claudia pulled up an ottoman and took a seat. "Hope, listen to me. You are worth more than that kind of treatment. If Derrick is going to act that way, he doesn't deserve you."

Hope laughed into the fresh glass of wine. "I honestly thought he was going to be the one."

"I know you did," Claudia said, then paused and fumbled for words. She took Hope's hands, setting the glass on the table, and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Hope. I was afraid Derrick was going to end up being a jerk. I'd heard some stories from other girls--"

Hope stared at Claudia, unblinking. "Wait. You--you knew?" She yanked her hands free and grabbed the wine, downing the full glass. "You knew and you let me date him?"

"I didn't know anything. I just got weird vibes from girls who went on dates and stuff. It just... I tried to warn you, but you seemed so happy, and he seemed like maybe he had changed, and--"

"Oh my God, Claudia," Hope said, near shouting, "you didn't think maybe I might get hurt? You were okay with taking that chance?"

"Hope, I was wrong. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Hope pointed at the door. "How about 'Bye'? I want you to leave."

"I can help with the ice," Claudia said, "or I can take you to the E.R. if you want. Or I'll just be here with you in case he comes back. Hope, don't shut me out."

Hope rose--with a wince and a groan. "I'm going to bed. You want to stay, fine, I don't care. Just... I need some time to myself."

* * *

Forsephore stepped through the doors of the Hub and strode into the black marble Plaza. A chill seeped through her and she shivered, even though there was no discernable temperature in a world made of pure thought and cognitive possibility.

Gaunt and bony Withers ambled on elongated limbs so thin they should break under the slightest weight. Here and there, translucent Fades moved like ghosts through the crowd, some flickering in and out of perception, others lingering like afterimages from a bright light.

Every few moments, a scream would reverberate through the despondent masses, sharp at first but quickly fading like a voice in the distance. Forsephore had seen the spectacle that accompanied those cries—when a Wither or Fade finally perished, the image of their ideal etched itself into the stone, a final but unheeded testament that said 'I was once here.'

The ground and low walls of the plaza bore the images of a crowd of Hopes, the versions of Hope Mackenzie that might have been if she had taken another course or chosen a different path in life.

Tuwonyne is out here somewhere. Hope send that Tu hasn't etched into the marble yet.

Forsephore searched faces for any hint of familiarity, but every Wither and Fade looked like an estranged friend from her youth. She remembered cataloging the comings and goings of Echoes through the Hub's wide entrance, but the idea she knew all of these seemed far-fetched.

Seated on the low wall around the Plaza, one Wither wore a wetsuit and snorkel, from back when Hope like so many adolescent girls declared she would become a marine biologist. Beneath the plastic mask, weary eyes in deep sockets watched Forsephore with curiosity. The wetsuit, once snug, hung loose over atrophied limbs and protruding joints.

A name came to Forsephore's mind. "Sicsohwaite?"

This Wither represented the recreational aspect of that dream, not the professional goal. Forsephore looked down at the ground beneath the Wither's bare, skeletal feet. In the shimmering light on the polished stone, an etching showed Hope forever frozen, swmiming with a dolphin.

"Your sister," Forsephore said, pointing. "Wonthertene."

The Wither's head lolled to the right, and her eyes stared blank at the ground. But she leaned forward, stretching her hand to graze the etching on the ground with one curled finger.

Forsephore turned away, but everywhere she looked, the same resignation and misery and broken dreams filled her view.

And somehow I know every single one of them.

She hurried through the crowd, her gaze never stopping for too long on any one Echo, her vision blurred with tears.

* * *

Surrounded by stacks of crates and boxes of paper files, Wonforoh sighed and thumped her forehead against the nearest one. "Find me something," Wonforoh sneered, repeating Chief Alpha Sevnynate's command in an imperious tone. "Easy for you to say, Sev."

The Chief was elsewhere, no doubt making some lower-caste Echo feel out of place among the radiant ones in the Hub. Sevnynate would never deign to sift through records and paperwork accumulated over the years. Alone in the annals and archives, Wonforoh could let loose her flippant attitude and casual insubordination.

Sevnynate's words came to mind. Anything that can put a stop to that little upstart and her disruption. But what in the realm of possibilities could that thing be? Forsephore doesn't even have a record here.

"Which is odd," Wonforoh muttered. "All the Echoes have files. The Ideals they represent and the Petitions they make before the Alphas are all recorded and maintained for future reference. So... Where's hers?"

No one should have tampered with the archives--to do so would be sacrilege. There were rules about these things, rituals and values that all Echoes honored.

Rules...

Wonforoh smiled wide and pushed aside the box of records, then approached a large binder on a central table marked Human Motivation and Psychology: Annex A - Internal Values, Ideals, and Self-Actualization. She flipped open the tome and began scanning through the pages, refreshing her memory of the laws and guidelines that governed life in the Hub.

Two hours later, she jotted down a note, slammed the book shut, and strode out of the archive with a confident grin.