MirrorWorld

“I nearly didn’t. I was tackled before I could follow Hugh into traffic. I tried to warn you, but was too late. The phone was ringing when you found them, Maya and Simon. You never answered, but it was me on the other end.”


“This is what I ran from,” I say. “Why I erased my memory.” Losing an entire family in one night … It sounds like enough to break even the strongest of men. But not Allenby. I hid from it, but she’s been dealing with this pain for more than a year.

“While you retreated, Lyons became even more obsessed with his research,” Allenby says, lost in the past. “His theories about their intentions had been—” She stops. Looks me in the eyes. She’s revealed something she wasn’t supposed to. Knows what my next question will be.

Why did Lyons become obsessed over my family’s deaths?

“You’re not supposed to know,” she whispers.

“No more secrets,” I remind her.

“Except this one,” she says, keeping her voice low. Despite her assurances that our conversation is private, the secret she nearly revealed has her on edge. Nervous.

I continue my argument in a lower voice. “You made opposing promises.”

She shakes her head, disappointed. “Bollocks.” Eyes on mine again. “Not a word.”

I nod.

“Maya’s maiden name is Lyons. Stephen is her father and Simon’s grandfather. He never had a son. Just the one daughter and he loved that boy more than his own child. Their loss set him on a … refined path. He was driven before, by what he described as a cursed childhood, taunted by the darkness, monsters in the closet, unceasing, crippling fear for which there appeared no source. He spent years with psychologists and psychiatrists who rotated him through various drug cocktails. But nothing helped. And then, when he was grown and accustomed to the fear, it left him wounded, but driven to understand it and uncover its source, which he did, and they took his—our—family for it. Rabid curiosity and study shifted to preparedness and, I fear, vengeance. But … who can blame him? I’d be lying if I said I never thought about finding a way to hurt them. Hugh … the man was an angel.”

“Who’s left? In our family.”

“Just the four of us, counting Maya. Stephen’s wife passed away when Maya was still a child.”

“Why would I run from all this?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question, wondering aloud because what Allenby has said doesn’t feel like me.

Allenby shrugs. “God only knows, but you took Lyons up on his offer to erase your memory, which, if you ask me, was your first and only real act of cowardice. When you woke with no memory, you attacked. This part is secondhand, mind you. As I mentioned, I found out about your decision via e-mail, and the job was done when I arrived. You were subdued and drugged. Katzman drove you away, put you on a park bench, and set you loose upon the world. I don’t know what the man was thinking, but within a few hours you’d been arrested. I located you when you were committed to SafeHaven a few days later.”

“And left me there.”

“It seemed the best place for you. Even you believed you were crazy. So, yes, we left you there.”

It’s a lot to assimilate, but one detail stands out. “You said I had the potential to be a living WMD.”

She nods.

“I’m just a man.”

This gets a laugh, like I’ve just told the funniest joke. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to be honest with you because it seems to be the only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself out of windows or punching people in the face.”

“Makes sense.”

“You were born without fear. Didn’t shed a tear when you entered the world. While your mother and I wept, you stayed as calm as a—”

“You were there when I was born?”

“Cut the cord.”

“How old am I?”

“Thirty-four. Your mum was twenty-three at the time. I was twenty-two. Turns out you were born with malformed amygdalas. Your memory was unaffected, but you couldn’t feel fear. You never have.”

“A lack of fear doesn’t explain what I can do.”

“It explains why you excelled in the military.”

“What branch?” I ask. I’m not sure why I care, but I want to know who I was, and different branches of the military can shape a man.

“Army,” she says. “First as a Ranger, and then Delta. But that didn’t last long.”

“I washed out?”

“You were noticed.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Lyons,” I say. “What is this place, CIA?”

“Once upon a time,” she says, “as were you. Your skill set made you the ideal operative.”

“My skill set…” I say. “What did I do?”