The wall marked Myron flashes into my mind. Kelsey and I built it to protect me from his memories—all of his memories—and I never pull it down. For a long time, some bits would sneak out when I was asleep, but they no longer have any real power, even when I dream. Could I do the same thing to protect some of my own memories from Badea’s probe?
“Maybe,” I tell him. “I’ve done something before that’s similar. I can’t say for certain that it will work, but I’ll try my best. I don’t want to jeopardize the investigation, and I definitely don’t want to put Aaron or Taylor in danger.”
After we hang up, I call Kelsey back. We both apologize, both wind up nearly in tears again, and she ends by simply telling me to be careful. And to call her as soon as I know anything else.
I erase all of the voice and text messages from Taylor and Aaron, just in case there’s something that might “out” them. Then I close my eyes and focus on building a second wall, like the one I built when Dacia was burrowing her way into my head at the police station. Like the one that surrounds Myron. I’m glad I don’t have to lock away everything that was Molly. That would feel . . . disrespectful, I guess. She was a good person. She didn’t hurt people like Myron did.
Once the wall is up, I begin sorting through my mental files. The memories from Emily, Arlene, Bruno, Lydia, Abner, Josephine, and Didier all remain in front. Myron stays in his isolation chamber, but I move it back behind the second wall, since it would give away the fact that I can (hopefully) hide things from her probe.
Next, I let my mind drift through the assorted Molly memories that I’ve barely begun to process. It’s usually a slow, gradual incorporation, but I don’t have time to let things take their natural course. I leave most of her memories, including many of Taylor and Aaron, in front of the wall. The three of them playing on a Slip’N Slide. The fort they built in the woods behind the house. A trip to the beach with Porter, Molly’s mom, and her grandmother. Other memories—the Christmas Molly and Taylor got the pink purses, Aaron rescuing Molly from that kid with the baseball bat, the search for a neighbor’s lost cat that started with Taylor and a sketch pad—go behind the second wall.
Then I build a space for my own recent memories. I start with my conversation with Aaron right after Porter was shot. Our discussion at the townhouse. Taylor sketching the house at Havre de Grace. I slide those memories and others like them behind the second wall, along with everything I’ve learned about Delphi and Graham Cregg.
I’ve never done anything like this with my own memories. I don’t like the feeling. It’s similar to the frustration of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but not quite being able to reach it. I think there’s a very real possibility that I could lose memories this way. That I could forget where I put them entirely and end up with gaping, Swiss-cheese holes in my mind.
I’m going to need a fully functional brain to get through this. But I want to be ready in case I have no other choice. So while Molly’s dangerous memories stay behind the wall, I bundle my own memories of Aaron, Taylor, Cregg, and the whole Delphi insanity into a mental folder, and put it behind the wall. Then I pull it out again. And then I practice moving it back and forth, back and forth, until I can do it with relative ease.
A tentative knock pulls me out of my meditation. When I open the door, Aaron is standing in the hallway, hands in his jeans pockets. Looking worried. Awkward. A little sad.
“You’ve been up here a really long time. What did Taylor say to you?”
“Nothing!” I tell him. “Why do you think—”
“She’s Taylor. Of course she said something.” He glances down the hall toward the bedroom where she’s working. “Can I come in? Or if you’d rather come down . . .”
“No . . . I mean, yes. Sure.” I step back into the room and sit on the bed again.
Aaron seems to consider the spot next to me briefly but opts for the rocking chair. “So, what did Taylor say?”
I’m about to deny it again, but what’s the point? Might as well clear the air now, rather than have this hanging over us.
“She said not to hurt you. And I told her she was jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
He’s quiet for a very long time, just staring at his feet. When he finally looks up, he says, “You’ve got so much on your mind right now and I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want things to be weird for you or for you to think that I’m pressuring you in any way. But I don’t want to lie to you, either. I’ve only known you for, what? Two days? But I like being around you. It’s nice to be open with somebody about . . .” He shrugs. “Who I am, I guess? I know these past two days have been some of the worst in your life and you probably wish you’d never laid eyes on me—”
“No. I don’t wish that. But I do wish the circumstances were different. And I think we both need a bit of time to sort out Molly’s role in all of this. She had such an enormous crush on you, and . . .”
I stop after seeing his face. He looks absolutely gobsmacked.
“You didn’t know?”