The Memory Asylum - A Short Story

The screams.

Susanna Sophia glanced over her shoulder. A shriek shrill enough to rattle bones scurried down the stone halls and reverberated in every crevice of the ancient structure. Even the torches seemed to quiver.

A new patient.

Wrapping her stick-like arms about her delicate body, she shuddered. The upcoming days would surely be busy. The work was grueling.

She crossed the threshold to the nearest window. Beneath an indigo sky, two of her world’s three moons had already risen. The setting daylight held a hint of mysticism. A breeze blew between the bars, dancing with her hair and long gown. Susanna closed her eyes. When the refreshing gust had subsided and the fortress’s stale air again dominated her lungs, she turned away from the window.

Holding her hands aloft, she concentrated. Sometimes she compelled herself to check. A pulsing, a heat, her fingertips began to glow a dull blue.

Yes, the gift was still intact. But was it a gift . . . or a curse?

“Susanna Sophia!” her name echoed through the chamber. “We mustn’t waste time.”

She immediately buried her hands—and the glow of her skin—in her long tresses of pale lavender hair and began to compose a braid.

The master of the fortress entered, his long robe sweeping the floor. There was a fire in his eyes.

“A new patient, professor?”

He nodded fervently. “I’ve been hunting this one for ages. Congratulations, my dear. This will be your best work.”

“We siphon memories from the mind and store away the energy for consumption and study. The work is unchanged.”

“Indeed.” Her master rubbed his hands together. “But this particular patient has been a thorn in my side—an adversary of sorts.”

“Rolxkien, is this revenge?” Susanna’s shoulders dropped.

“Call it what you will.” An eager smile plastered itself over the professor’s pasty face. “Prepare yourself, this will take a long time.”

As he left the room, Susanna called after him. “How many years?”

“All of them.”

Such a task could take days, and Susanna hoped she possessed the stamina. After all, an unfinished task in her line of work could cause disastrous results.

Legality of their work was not the question. After all, nobody knew. . . because no one remembered. The patients stumbled out of their fortress without care for what brought them there and began new lives unaware of the change wrought upon them.

Professor Rolxkien’s exports couldn’t exist without Susanna Sophia. Her ability to remove the memories and consume their energy was the foundation of all they had accomplished.

The question was why . . . why her?

You could always run. The door is wide open.

Susanna climbed the stairs to the operating room, her chest heaving with exertion and the weight of what she was about to do.

But her curse was employed. It was far better to be useful than to be moral.

She often wondered what the patients would have been if they had not met her. At the touch of her fingertips, their fates became rewritten. Was their potential forever eradicated? How she wondered.

“Hello,” she whispered, entering the chamber.

The door wasn’t locked, but every patient bore chains. No equipment was necessary; Susanna being both the scalpel and the surgeon.

Staring with large, terrified eyes was the patient: a young man. His coat and vest were of fine quality and his shirt pressed and decked with brass buttons. He trembled, the chains about his wrists rattling.

“Who are you?”

Don’t I crave that answer?

Susanna Sophia seated herself beside the barred window, arranging her skirt. “A colleague of the professor’s.” she answered simply.

“You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with. Flee and save your innocence.”

A smile graced her lips. A pink hue brightened her cheeks. “I no longer believe in innocence.”

The young man’s eyes grew sad. Raising a hand, he brushed his coal-black hair off his forehead. “The opposite is guilt, I see you have full faith in its design.”

“I haven’t time for this. I am about to perform a terrible operation on your mind. Everything you know will be stripped away. Perhaps then, when your mind is but a blank slate, you’ll be as close to innocent as you’ll ever be.”

The young man swallowed. His eyes grew wide and his chest heaved anxious breaths, but he accepted his fate with composure.

“Tell me the name of my victim.” Susanna’s heart was numb.

“Ashton.” He whispered, a tear drifting down his cheek.

“It is time!” The door swept open to welcome the professor, his face alight with glee.

Fear fled from Ashton’s face, immediately replaced with rage. He tried to stand, his arms straining at his chains, causing his elbows to arch like spider’s legs.

“Face me, monster. I am due answers.”

Rolxkien scoffed, keeping his distance. “You’re due nothing, whelp.” He looked at Susanna and nodded. “Let’s begin.”

“Are you worried, snake? Afraid I might slip away again before your dirty work’s complete?”

“Oh, I am extremely eager for your demise, dear Ashton. Our rivalry has been quite marvelous . . . but it has run its course.”

Susanna stood, pushing up her sleeves. Once her master began talking, it was unlikely that he’d cease. Her fingers began to glow. She drew a deep breath. This would take hours, maybe even all night.

“You began this, Rolxkien. Your hatred . . . bitterness . . . jealousy.”

The professor laughed. “Of course, but that is past. You needn’t worry because you won’t remember it. In fact, you won’t remember me.”

Drawing near to the patient, Susanna reached out her hands, thrusting them on either side of the man’s head. Blue tongues of flame leapt from her fingers, engulfing the patient. Once the cessation of his struggling was complete, his body went limp. With the help of the professor, Ashton’s body was lowered onto the stone ledge. Susanna also seated herself, cradling his head in her lap. Her fingers intertwined in his hair. His face gleamed a dull blue. Susanna also closed her eyes.

Now the real work began.

Moments, hours, days, years . . . they all flowed like water down a river. The colors of a life lived danced through Susanna’s mind. This portion was peaceful. Memories of happiness—such as a pristine childhood—were easily forgotten. They brought her pleasure. Ashton’s early years were easily eradicated, but it would most assuredly become more difficult.

As expected, the visions turned grim. Gasping for air, Susanna arched her back, fighting to keep hold on her patient’s memories. Such suffering, no life was without its share, but Ashton had endured much.

With this pain, came the interjection of external forces. In this case, it was two prominent figures that influenced Ashton’s history. One was a beautiful maiden, dark haired, amber eyed, and as pale as a lily. The other—of course—was Professor Rolxkien.

“Wait!” Ashton’s body lurched. His eyes shot open.

Susanna clamped her hands to his temples. Her fingers blazed like fire. The pain that wrecked her body intensified as she found herself not subduing the patient’s mind, but combating it.

Never had she encountered a mind strong enough to wage a struggle against her powers. This patient . . . Ashton was different.

“If you destroy my memory . . .” Ashton used every ounce of his strength to speak. “You will fail. You will have no victory.”

The professor was unimpressed.

“I won’t remember that . . . that you murdered her.”

“Susanna, please, won’t you silence him?”

There wasn’t strength to spare to inform him that she was trying her hardest to accomplish this feat.

“You . . . you murdered my wife!”

The defining moment. Struggling to pry the memories from his mind, she saw the terror in the maiden’s eyes. A dagger was raised in the hands of her colleague. Then she watched as the knife plunged into the woman’s chest. Blood gathered about the hilt, dripping down over her dress.

What had she—what had Ashton—possibly done to deserve this?

Was this how she wished her gift to be employed . . . for revenge?

“Susanna! HURRY UP!”

With tears streaming down her face, Susanna gritted her teeth and dug deeper. It took every ounce of will in her body, but she overcame. Ashton’s eyes once again rolled back and the days of his life were stolen away from him.

Recovery was grueling. Susanna hardly left her chamber, bedridden. This was the usual aftermath, but this time, the effect was magnified. Her dreams were dark and dreary. Images of Ashton’s life replayed themselves over and over. Rolxkien hadn’t hesitated to drive that knife into the maiden. What other disastrous deeds were her colleague hiding?

She began to regret.

When she was able, she rose and dressed appropriately for travel.

“Wherever are you going?” The professor inquired, watching her pack provisions from the fortress storehouse.

She stiffened. “I need a sabbatical. If the work is to continue, I will need more time to recuperate.”

The professor’s face grimaced. “Your timing is suspicious.”

“I simply wasn’t aware that I was the means to revenge.”

“You’re slipping, Susanna. Your work was extremely shoddy. If you are unable to perform your duties . . .” his eyes narrowed.

She looked over her shoulder. “Will my fate be the same as that maiden’s?”

Rolxkien snarled. “I’ll not be criticized by you. It was necessary.”

So many secrets . . . if this was the life this fortress had for her, she wanted nothing to do with it.

She brushed past him, lugging the sack full of provisions over her shoulder. After leaving it in her chamber, she climbed the stairs again. Anticipation fluttered in her chest. This change of heart excited her. If she could accomplish one good deed in a sea of pain and suffering, perhaps there was hope.

Back in the tower prison, she pushed the door open. Ashton was also recovering from the procedure. Slumped on the stone ledge, his eyes were closed and his skin a sickly parchment color.

Kneeling beside him, her fingers glowing, she reached out and touched his temple. Closing her eyes, she recalled the memory of his wife. Not the gruesome murder, but of the maiden standing in a glade, twilight dancing in her eyes.

Susanna had never given a memory back before, but she had to try.

Ashton’s eyes cracked open. Too weak to move, he simply watched her.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Susanna concentrated. It had to transfer. “A friend.”

Maybe lives could be rewritten . . . redeemed.

“Friends . . .” he breathed deeply. “Wonderful resources, they are.” He looked at the blue light stretching up her arm. But he wasn’t surprised. “Ah, this is familiar.”

“It is?”

Raising a feeble limb, something surprising occurred. His own fingers began to glow.

Susanna stared in absolute astonishment.

“I know what you are.” Ashton smiled. “I’m one too.”

She could weep for joy. Loneliness fled. Perhaps it was not a curse after all. Curses that dwelled together were blessings . . . gifts.

“I can’t seem to remember much, but this girl . . . do you know who she is?”

Susanna nodded, tears filling her eyes. Maybe she’d committed a terrible sin against this man, but she could rebirth anew. They could run away, and rewrite fate. And maybe, she could return what she’d stolen.

“She’s your wife. Hold onto that memory. It’s precious.”

Ashton closed his eyes. “Yes, someday . . . maybe I’ll find her again.”

Susanna reached out and stroked his black locks tenderly. “As soon as you’re well, I’ll get you out, Ashton. I want to learn more about what I—what we—are. Maybe we can help each other.”

And maybe . . . just maybe . . . “helping” could become healing.