“Memory doesn’t always cooperate or align with our goals, but we might get lucky.” Looking back at his paper. “Do you remember anything else at all about the first few days of kindergarten?”
“Kindergarten.” Lucas sat for a minute with the idea of it. The whole notion of kindergarten. Did he remember . . . kindergarten?
CUBBIES. RED.
“Not really. Just the classroom. My backpack.”
Sashor pushed a photo array toward Lucas. Max as a kid, then a series of sketches that aged him. “Have you ever seen this boy?”
“The FBI agents showed this to me,” Lucas said. “And no, I don’t remember him. At all. Before or after. And I have no idea if I kissed him, either. In case you were going to ask.”
Sashor smiled, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. For some reason, Lucas felt eager to please him. He also wanted a professional opinion. So he made this deal with himself: He would talk about the carousel.
Not the tattoo.
Not until he found out tonight if the others had tattoos, too.
Not until he spent at least a little time trying to figure out what to make of it.
A camera shutter tattoo.
What did that even mean?
“I do remember one other thing really vividly,” he said tentatively.
“What is it?”
“Riding a carousel. It was by the ocean. I get dizzy whenever I think about it.”
BLUE-AND-WHITE HORSE. GOLDEN SADDLE.
OLD-TIMEY PIANO.
PEANUTS.
ROUND AND ROUND.
It sounded even more ridiculous when spoken aloud than it had when it had just been in his head.
“How old were you?” Sashor seemed to pep up.
“I don’t know. It feels recent. Like I was too old to be riding a carousel but I liked it anyway?”
“No such thing as too old to ride a carousel,” Sashor said.
Lucas smiled. “Do you think it really happened?”
“Well, there were no drugs in your system, nothing that could cause hallucinations. So either it happened or it was put there as a decoy, a distraction.”
“How would someone even do that?”
“False memories are actually pretty easy to create. Like if your brother told you that when you were kids you dropped your ice-cream cone and cried so hard that the woman in the shop gave you a new cone, you’d believe that it happened, even if you didn’t remember it. And then you’d eventually tell the story as your own and even add details, like what flavor of ice cream it was and what the weather was like.”
“Seriously?” Lucas couldn’t think of his own favorite flavor.
“Seriously.”
“So do you have a diagnosis?” Lucas asked. “Like a name for it? Apart from us all just generally being messed up.”
Sashor explained anterograde amnesia, which is the loss of the ability to create new memories after an event, leading to a partial or complete inability to recall the recent past. And how it was possible to suffer from this condition while long-term memories from before the event remained intact, which was why he remembered his father, his brother, the house. This was also typically in contrast to retrograde amnesia, where most memories created prior to the event are lost, while new memories can still be created.
“I guess it’s possible that someone or something triggered the first condition,” Sashor said. “Because, presumably, during the time you were gone, you were able to make memories—and then, eleven years later, triggered the second condition. Leaving a long gap in between.”
“But what would that trigger be?” Lucas wished he’d thought to take notes.
“The abduction itself could have been the first trigger? Your release, the next?”
Lucas had no theories. “How do I still know how to play chess and brush my teeth and all?”
“Neither of these conditions affects your procedural memory.”
“But how can I retain a memory of knowledge but not of experiences?” Lucas pointed at the map and his high-scoring world history test.
“Those kinds of processes are handled by different parts of the brain, as well. Working in tandem, sure, but separate physical locations,” Sashor said. “Honestly, unless they find the person responsible, I can’t imagine we’ll ever know what the purpose of the experiment was.”
“Experiment?”
“I’m a scientist, so that’s where my mind goes, yes.”
Lucas felt hopeful for the first time. “There can’t be that many experts in this field, right?”
“There are a lot of people around the globe trying to crack open one of the mysteries of memory and grab the spotlight. Probably half of them are unhinged or obsessed in some way.” Sashor seemed to pause to reconsider what he’d just said. “It’s also possible that you’re all very good liars. And that you remember everything and are putting one over on the rest of us.”
Lucas felt himself bristle. “Why would we do that?”
“To protect the identity of the person who took you?” Sashor said. “Because you’re suffering from Stockholm syndrome?”
“It’s nothing like that.” Lucas sat forward in his chair.
Sashor smiled sadly and stood. “But of course you’d say that.”
AVERY