I remember a quiet April evening. The swish-creak of the porchswing as it swung forward and back, forward and back, harmonized with the stillness, soothing rather than disturbing. I remember sitting on that swing with someone's arm around me, a circle of warmth to keep off the chill. Someone-- I remember being happy...
It is a measure of what you have done to me that I cannot remember his name. I would damn you for that if I could, but I shall have to be satisfied with your death. I no longer believe in hell. If, indeed, I ever did. Belief in hell presupposes belief in god, and you have taken that from me as well.
It was Dr. Augenstein who performed the actual operation. I know that now.
No, I won't do anything to her. Killing you will be quite enough.
What's wrong? Did I tie you too tightly?
That's too bad. I guess you'll just have to live with it-- For a while.
Mad? Yes. I suppose I am. But we both know whose fault that is.
Screaming won't help either. I enjoy it, and there's no one else to hear. Even if there were, you had these rooms soundproofed just after I arrived. It's even in the blueprints now.
Better. Can't you face death with a little dignity? With some conviction that there was a reason for what you did? I truly thought there was more to you. That should tell you how misleading my first impressions of you were.
I remember how you introduced yourself. You said my name was Rachel. I believed you. You said you were my father. I doubted. You said that I had been in an accident, that emergency surgery had been required to save my life. I was grateful. You said that it might, one day, be possible to restore my ability to speak. I rejoiced. You said that I would never regain my lost memories--
You were wrong.
You were wrong, and it is for that small miscalculation that you will die.
It was my first day out of bed, my first journey outside that sterile gray place that was my prison--
Not a prison? What, then, would you call it?
Don't treat me as an idiot unless you enjoy pain. I'm not your poor, mentally crippled daughter; she never existed. I'm quite willing to hit you again... and again. If I didn't remember (Yes! Remember!) otherwise, this streak of latent sadism might lead me to suspect that you were in fact my father.
But I will not hit you too much. I don't want you to pass out. Besides, when you're dizzy, you can't read what I have to say. And I want you to know...
I was dizzy that day. I was dizzy and my head hurt. You knew that. You must have known that. That was why you had them bring me here, to your office. I suppose you even know that the headache would recur. Dr. Augenstein would have told you. But, whether or not you knew, be grateful. My migranes have twice saved your life.
I would guess that it was Dr. Augenstein who suggested that you find someone in the Complex to be my "babysitter." You were never bright enough to come up with that on your own. You would never even have left me alive unless someone told you you might gain by it. Did you plan to preserve me as proof of some sort? As subject for later experimentation?
No, you would never have thought of a babysitter on your own, but you knew a good idea when you heard one. If you had let your mute, retarded "daughter" wander around unsupervised, people might have started to wonder.
And so you hired Sue--
Yes, I know. You wanted a babysitter, not a teacher, but it's so hard to get one without the other. We spent three months on basic sign language; within a year, I could read again. I asked her not to tell you, but-- She thought you'd be pleased. She had no idea you thought-- hoped-- the condition was permanent.
You never expected it did you? You thought you had me trapped. You forgot I could relearn.
Fool! You should have killed me as soon as you were sure that your precious experiment was a "success."
I know all about it . I read your file, you see, while I was waiting for you to wake up...
I thought that would frighten you. You thought I didn't really know. And I didn't... I didn't realize how right I was to hate you.
It might never have come to this if you'd left Sue alone. She never knew anything. I wouldn't have put her in that danger.
Of course I guessed. Despite your meddling in my mind, I'm not stupid. I'd remembered enough by that time to be quite thoroughly paranoid. I knew you were lying. The vacation I might have believed, but the "accident"... I'm not stupid. She told you about the sign language, and you killed her. I suppose she meant to save the writing for a later surprise.
And you are surprised, aren't you?
But did you really think that killing her would stop me from communicating? What were you afraid I might say? The truth? You didn't know I remembered. You fool. You utter and absolute fool. You killed her out of fear that she might know something, but you forgot to find out what she knew.
I wasn't even sure what happened to her until I read her file. I was just going to kill you, but you were not kind to her. I owe her that much. She, at least, loved me.
She's dead. Even if you were free, there's nothing you could do to her. But do go on; you're giving me such interesting ideas...
Oh, I've a few of my own. For example.
I disagree. I think this is just what I want.
I am so sorry. I hope you weren't too fond of that shirt. Not planning to be buried in it or anything--
Don't be such a baby. I haven't even drawn blood yet. Just think what miracles the undertaker will be able to perform.
No comfort? Then don't be surprised that I find no ease in the knowledge of that other Rachel's happiness. You created her, gave her my memories, my life. Forgive me if I am jealous. She-- No-- It. Organic and "human" as it may be... It has my porchswing, his arm around it. Has my parents, my name. Thinks it is me--
Liar!
That's better. Do you enjoy pain so much? A pity I haven't got a mirror; you might not be so quick to provoke me if you could see the marks of my fingers on your cheek.
Yes, you really should have. You would have, I'm sure, if you'd know I'd remember--
And what price memory?
Pain.
My headaches.
Those headaches... I have to be careful, move around the edges. If I get too near those holes in my mind, I fall in-- I hurt so much I think I'm dying and know it can't possibly happen soon enough. You think you've known pain?
But each session of torture brings a few scraps more. That's what I've had to fight for, a tattered handful--
Damn you! I am not crying!
I've only cried in front of you once-- When you and Evelyn found me outside after one of my "spells." Because she was with you, you patted me on the head and told me everything would be all right--
That was the worst lie you ever told me.
Fond of me? Your crazy daughter Rachel? Don't make me laugh. You kicked a dog and forgot it had teeth.
And you thought I was crying because of the headache, because of the pain. I was crying for something else, though. Something you would never understand.
That was the day I remembered my April evening. There you were, pretending you wanted to, or even could, comfort me, and, all the while, I was damning your soul to Hell.
But I can't believe in hell...
Enough talk.