Alternative

| Chapter Three

"If I do this, you think I can really fly, Ray?"

I splash cold water over my face as my alarm goes off within my bedroom. A rooster's call echoes. Upbeat music plays. Glancing back, I watch the light of my phone dance against my pillows and morning shadows. My reminder of a new morning.

Why do I set the damn thing if I'm up before it?

"You're going to touch the stars, baby. I swear."

The towel I have is warm, soft in my hands. I breathe into it as I pat my face dry. For a second, I smell Em within its fibers. A delicate scent of lavender mist. I can't help but smile as I rub the cloth against my cheek.

Did she use this towel yesterday? I fold the towel evenly and place it back upon its drying rack. Was she in my bathroom?

I want to ask her these questions, but I know I can't. Additional information too quickly, too soon, startles her. I know from experience.

Emery has been in this forgetful, amnesia state for over a year. And for most of those days, I tried to get her to look at me, to remember me. There were nights where I played videos of us out on dates, or mornings where I'd retell stories of lives.

Each time I talked to her of my memories, our memories, she would close up. She would stop talking to me. Quickly, I learned, if I scare her with so much information, she hides. She runs to the guest room she called hers and won't talk to me. And if I scare her, she'll close up and hide.

If she stays hidden and away from me, I could lose every upload and all of our progress. Because of this, I found I couldn't answer Joe's question yesterday. I have no way to be sure how many girls we needed to steal memories from to regain Emery.

I just know I can't stop, not now. We've come so far. I know because last night Emery looked at me with love in her eyes. Her fingertips touched me tenderly. It was something I missed so much.

"Can you fly with me, Rayna? Can we fly together?"

Taking in a deep breath, I rush out of my room and slide my finger over my phone's bright screen. The alarm is off and dismissed, but I find myself staring at new notifications. Text messages. The first is from Joe.

I have coffee and good news, it reads. Be there in ten.

Smiling, I drop my phone back against my bed's pillows and pull open my blue curtains. Sunlight, partly covered by clouds, grazes my wooden floor with its dim light. I take in the warmth that sneaks in through the glass. My hands move up my neck as I close my eyes.

And remember.

"I'll be with you, right here. I'm the one running the machine, remember? Just close your eyes and relax, Em. I'll take care of you, I promise."

My smile fades.

Every time I think back to that day, the moment I agreed to let Emery take part in Alt-Life's memory implantation, it eats at me. I had been the one powering the program; it was my fingers that tapped the start command. And yet, as many times as I replay it, I can't remember seeing a defect in the system, an error in the code.

I thought it was smooth sailing, high flying like Emery wanted to experience.

With the push of one button, I lost it all.

"Rayna?" A knock hits my door and I turn around, eyes opening wide. I catch the shocked expression on Emery's face as she put her hands back in front of her stomach, crossing her fingers, like a timid schoolgirl. "Your friend is downstairs," she says.