Cursed Angels

That would explain the woman cutting out the good doctor’s.

There are further notes explaining that her virginity was taken by Dr. Hickson to ensure that she was not a temptress to the male occupants of The Factory. I scroll quickly over the lengthy account of the process that seems to have been written. I don’t know why, but I can’t face reading it. I slam the scanning to a halt, though, when I see my name written.

“It seems that Miss Eldrige has developed a relationship with Mr. King. They have not consummated it that we can tell, but it would be dangerous to allow it to develop any further. Both have been in trouble of late for disobeying the rules, escaping to see each other when they should be sleeping or training. Mr. King was beaten by the enforcer two days prior for what seems to be him taking the blame for them both being out. He would not name Miss Eldrige, and as a result, received thirty lashes of the cane. Miss Eldrige was made to watch the punishment but did not comment or try to stop it. The connection between the two of them was obvious during that time. I recommend that Mr. King be taken as soon as possible for advanced training. Miss Eldrige’s future is still uncertain at the moment, but I suggest time spent within the department with our soldiers offering them comfort would be advisable.” Signed: Dr. Holland

I reread the passage. I had a relationship with Samara? I knew her, and judging by the fact that they separated us as quickly as possible, I was fond of her.

Why can’t I remember this?

I smash my fist into the desk, and everything on it shakes. Dr. Holland left recently, and I suspect he is dead, so I can’t ask him anything about what’s happening. I wonder if Samara had anything to do with his disappearance?

My computer dings. The search on “Samara Eldrige” has finished. I glance at the screen. Nothing. She’s a ghost and doesn’t exist anywhere in the world. There must be more information on this laptop. I open several other files on the computer. There are nothing but medical reports on various procedures and medications that she had. It’s all in a language I don’t understand, so I dismiss it for now.

I’m getting more and more frustrated with each dead end that arises. I know I should remember something, anything about this woman, but as I’m reading about her, I feel nothing. No emotion. If I had a relationship with her, surely I should care for her?

Some of the things she’s had done to her are horrendous and explains why she’s on a murderous rampage. How did she get out though, and why am I not with her? What happened? There’s one final file left. It’s titled with a set of numbers, 102993. My security code. I open it quickly, and there in front of me is a picture of a sixteen-year-old Samara Eldrige. Her hair is cherry-red, and her eyes are as blue as the ocean. The number is her birthdate; it’s written below the image. My head thunders with an urgent need to think, to feel. I rub my temple, but it doesn’t dissipate.

“Archer, we have to leave.” Mara wraps her arms around my torso, being careful of my caned back, and pins herself to my chest for comfort.

“I know.” It’s all I can answer. I don’t know how we can ever escape this place.

“I can’t watch you go through that again,” she sobs.

“I’ll find a way. I promise you. I love you.”

I gasp out of the vision with a cry of agony. My brain hurts. I need to calm myself. I don’t know why. I just know that if I continue down this path, I will forget again. I shut my eyes and breathe deeply. Visions of murder, death, and destruction flood my mind this time, and I relax. The pain subsides, and I can breathe easier. Samara Eldrige is the key to finding out what is going on here. I shut the laptop down. I can’t risk looking at her picture again even though I wish I could study it for hours and learn the reasons why I loved her.

A knock at the door breaks my thoughts.

“Who is it?” If it’s the butler, I’m not letting him in.

“It’s Liam, sir. I have something you will want to see.” It’s one of the foot soldiers that I have an unexplained fondness for.

“Come in,” I order.

He steps in with a picture in his hand.

“It seems that they weren’t as well trained as they thought they were. We got a visual on the man.” Liam smiles triumphantly.

“Give it here.” I hold my hand out, and he places the piece of paper onto it. I stare down, but even though I was supposedly fighting this man a few hours ago, I have no recollection of him. He was wiped from my memory at the same time as this Samara was. I turn back to my computer and pop the picture into a scanner. I open up a facial-recognition program and start a trace. Liam stands there waiting for further orders.