Me & Her

Me

Each memory is a heartbeat.

Each memory re-shapes me. Shifting me into the person I once was.

A little girl, playing on the sickly yellow swings in the park while reciting my times-tables. Smart for my age. 5 x 76. 380. Grinning as my mother, my real mother, gazes on in wonder rather than shock. My clever little girl, she would sooth as she scooped me up from the slide.

We could never stay in one place for long. One grotty apartment after another. A backpacker's hostel. A homeless shelter where I spent my tenth birthday. Mother never told me what we were running from. Or if we were even running from anything.

Running. I remember.

A kindly man arrived, or so he seemed. To take us off the streets. To somewhere worse.

The memory swallows me.

I'm sitting, crouching, on a dirtied floor. Mother is standing at the door, telling the man to leave. The man pushes past, tells her it isn't her business. It's mine. My mistake. My younger self, with big bright eyes, stares at the man who will ruin my life. Dr. Steele. He gives me the option. Gives me a promise. If I help science, help the nation. Help my country. My country.

I'm American. Born in Washington State. Alice Callett.

A little girl who was invited to a hundred birthdays and ruined every single one. I remember throwing cake at one of my friends in Middle School. Throwing cake and laughing and shoving it into my mouth before spitting it onto the cream carpet.

Remember. Remember.

Mother is apologising, always apologising for me.

Until Dr. Steele arrives and offers us another chance. To live. He moves us up into a large house in Canada. The sweet little suburbs.

For a brief moment, Mum and I enjoy a tightrope of happiness. Eating out every night. Watching films, reading stories. Laughing at bumbling detectives on TV. Throwing water bombs outside in the garden. I remember. Oh god, I remember. Mum. Mum smiling as I shifted from Alice to Alyssa.

"My bright girls. You could be twins," she would joke. She would play soccer with Alyssa, over dramatizing her goals by running around the pitch in our back garden screaming she was Number One. She would test my Math Skills. She would play schools with me, hanging off my every word.

And then they came. Men, women. Dr. Steele. Dressed in monochrome. Dragging me. Drugging me. Injecting me and holding me down while I screamed and thrashed and told them this wasn't part of the deal. That this wasn't what I wanted. Mum. Mum is there. Waltzing in my memories. Smiling. Shouting with dagger-like eyebrows as she cracks Dr. Steele across the face. Her eyes are coals of lava when she is restrained by guards twice her size.

I was only allowed to see her for an hour every other week. When she was dragged into my room – a small cell with a bed soldiered to the floor. Soft shackles tied to the bedframe. She was not allowed to touch me. She would sit in silence, tears streaming down her face. And I would ask her, every time.

"Why are you crying, Mummy? Don't you love me anymore?"

And she would not answer.

My mind hitches and bleeds salt water when I realise I will never see her again. Karen Hill will realise I am not useful to anyone anymore. Then she will kill me. Dump my body in a ditch on the highway.

I will go from something to nothing in a heartbeat. Perhaps I already have.

Alyssa is gone. Alyssa is gone and I am left with my own miserly thoughts. My own useless mind, which shifts like a mechanical maze. A maze stuffed with memories. That day. Three years ago.

Images engulf me, like the belly of a great white shark. I am pressed against the flesh of old memories.

I am running. No. We are running. Mother and I. Mummy. I am panting, crying as we stumble away from a tall grey building which crowns a small Canadian town. The kind with local shops and rodeos every other weekend. Tartan bunting, in shades of green, hang like fruit across the street. The buildings where the locals peer out, frowning and screaming and calling the police. I am pulling Mum, who is glancing around us, eyes wider like a doe. Hunters in the trees. Guns and guards and the rasping of our breath. Alyssa and me. Running together. Stumbling and staggering against the drugs in our system.

I fall to my knees. Mum stops, picks me up. Holds me close.

"We're nearly there, my brave girl," she coos. It's a lie, but I offer a wan smile.

"Keep going," Mum whispers. But I can't. I stop and I cry and it's my fault. Our fault.

Alyssa. Her memories are intermingling with my own. She is in control and I'm in the backseat of our mind, banging on the glass. Trying to stop her. Trying and trying as she throws a punch. She picks up a gun by accident. Almost a reflex as one of the guards hit the floors. Our Mother pulls her back. Moves to stand in front of her. In front of us.

Alyssa is laughing and screaming and spitting. I am screaming too, inside our mind. Telling her there will be no way back for us if she pulls the trigger. So, she doesn't. Someone else does.

Gunfire kisses the air, almost intimate against our eardrums. Mother cries out, dropping to the floor. A bullet wound blooms in red petals in her shoulder. On the right side, but it's an ugly wound. Jagged.

I scream, drop my weapon. Apply pressure.

Alyssa is screaming. I am screaming. Mum is screaming too. Blood pours from her shoulder. Tears blister my cheeks.

I try reach for the gun again, but Mum pulls my hand away.

"It's okay. I love you. It's alright. Just be brave for a little longer," she says. Her eyes are glossy.

"Being brave is hard," I hiss.

"I know. It's pretty crap, isn't it?" She laughs to herself. "But if anyone can do it, you can". I wish I could believe her, but I can't. Especially when the first wave of guards move forward and several gunshots split the air. Snipers. Blood and brain matter splatter over my cheeks and I shriek in silence. Around us, the locals are dragged from their homes. Handcuffed as more guards in black move in. Undeterred by the deaths of their colleagues.

"Get away from us!" I am yelling, but no one hears me. "Stay away from us! You don't know what you're doing!" The words of a girl. Because they know exactly what they are doing. They know it when they surround me and drag me kicking and spitting from my Mother's side.

"I will take everything from you. I will have my day in the sun, and you will have yours in the dark". My words fall on no one's ears. They know I am hysterical. Just a girl. A mistake.

Two people sharing one body and yet neither of us can save the other. Neither of us can break free. Neither of us can look our Mother in the eyes as we are dragged away. Neither of us can speak until we feel a slight prick in our neck. And then darkness. Darkness and memories shifting and a white room with no one inside. Just shelves upon shelves of books with no words and a bed with a steel-like quilt.

And my Mother's name. Clear as a bullet hole. Those initials. T.C. My Mum. Tanya Callett.

Mummy, do you still love me? After everything I've done.

"I will always love you," I remember her saying. "I will always love you both".

I wonder, will she love me now that I am alone? Now that, thanks to me, Alyssa is gone. And I am left. And I don't want to be the one who is left.

Alyssa. I'm sorry. Alyssa. Alyssa.

But my mind is silent and, in that moment, I know she is gone and I will never hear voice again.

I am alone. Just what I always wanted.

As if on schedule, the tears arrive.