The First Call
450 Words
Mira held the phone to her ear, unable to speak.
The whisper lingered on the line.
“You don’t remember making the first call…”
“…but you did.”
The call ended.
Her hands shook as she lowered the phone.
“No,” she said. “None of this makes sense.”
Victor stepped toward her, his expression unreadable.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t twist the truth.”
Victor ignored him.
“When you were eight years old, you possessed something no one else did—a remarkable ability to recognize patterns, voices, and memories. Project Echo wasn’t created because of you.”
He paused.
“It changed because of you.”
Mira stared at him.
“I was a child.”
“You solved a problem that experienced scientists couldn’t. You discovered that a single recorded voice could trigger specific memories and emotional responses in different people.”
Her heart pounded.
“I don’t remember any of this.”
“Because your mother made sure you wouldn’t.”
Adrian stepped beside her.
“She wanted you to have a normal life.”
Victor let out a bitter laugh.
“A normal life? She erased twelve years of your memories.”
Before Mira could respond, every computer screen in the chamber flashed white.
One by one, files began opening automatically.
The title on each screen was identical.
SUBJECT SEVEN — MEMORY ARCHIVE
A progress bar appeared.
Memory Restoration: 3%
Mira gasped as a sharp pain shot through her head.
A flash.
A little girl laughing in a laboratory.
Another flash.
Her mother hugging her tightly.
Then another.
A man in a white coat saying, “She’s ready.”
The visions disappeared as quickly as they had come.
Mira collapsed to one knee.
Adrian caught her before she hit the floor.
“It’s starting,” he whispered.
“What is?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Your memories are returning.”
Suddenly, a deafening alarm echoed through the chamber.
A computerized voice announced:
Unauthorized memory restoration detected.
Emergency protocol initiated.
The lights went out.
Darkness consumed the room.
Then…
A child began singing.
The soft, haunting lullaby echoed through the chamber.
Mira stopped breathing.
She knew that song.
Her mother used to sing it every night.
But her mother was gone.
The singing grew louder.
Closer.
A small figure stepped out of the darkness.
It was a little girl.
She looked no older than eight years old.
She wore the same blue dress Mira had seen in one of her visions.
The little girl smiled.
Then she whispered,
“You finally came back.”
Mira’s blood ran cold.
The child had her face.
- Writer
