Collateral

Chapter Fifteen - Arsen

It was bright, too bright. Arsen tried to move his hand to cover his eyes, but his motions were heavy and sluggish.

The mattress was soft, though, so he burrowed deeper into it.

Wait a second—

He could breathe again.

What even happened? It was hard to remember. He could recall fragments—blood, pain. Blistering, scalding hot pain.

"You'll be confused for a while," murmured someone. "The full effects haven't been studied yet. Hopefully, the memories will return. If not, I'll just work with what I have."

Arsen felt a sudden impulse. He wiggled his fingers to relieve it. The faceless stranger laughed, startling Arsen.

"So it worked. Very good, doctors."

"Who..." Arsen tried, though his throat was dry and it hurt him to speak, created a burning sensation when he swallowed. It felt like he had run too far and fast without stopping and without water.

"No one you need to worry about." Another laugh. Arsen was beginning to get annoyed now. "Keep him here for a little longer. Observe the side effects."

Arsen wiggled his fingers again, on the other hand. It elicited another laugh from the stranger.

Arsen tried to focus his eyes to no avail.

"What..."

"Don't worry, Mr. Ashford, it's all turning out to be just fine." There were shuffling feet, and then he spoke again. "Get him under again."

There was a tiny jab in his forearm and Arsen passed out again.

When he came to for the final time, he was clearly in a different room—pale yellow lights, high ceiling, glass wall with a sliding compartment. Inside the compartment, there was a tray full of food.

Arsen mumbled something unintelligible as he hauled himself up and towards the tray.

There were mashed potatoes, some type of meat, and what looked like peas that had melded together in some green slime-type of substance.

To be safe, he ate only what he could safely identify, the mashed potatoes. They were decent enough.

Then, he walked back to the bed and sat heavily, contemplating why he was there. Was it the psych ward and he'd finally gone insane?

One name floated back to him through the jumbled chaos.

"Reyna," he whispered. Then he repeated it, louder. "Reyna."

"Shut up, Zero!" Came the sharp reply.

"Who are you?" Arsen hadn't noticed other people. There wasn't a response. Had he imagined the voice?

"Your guard," the words were pointed.

"Why do I need a guard?"

Another pause.

Arsen repeated his question.

"Blackjack said not to say anything," hissed a new voice.

"Too late for that now."

"Yes, I know that."

"I can hear you, you know," Arsen cut into their banter.

"Forget it. Pretend we don't exist or something."

"Why? Who's Blackjack?"

There was a series of sharp whispers Arsen couldn't decipher. Then, it was quiet. He began to think that he might've imagined it all. He laid back on the surprisingly comfortable bed and tried to fall asleep.

Arsen was on the brink of falling asleep when the sound of a door sliding open. He rolled over to face a steel-faced man in black.

"Are you Voice One or Voice Two?" He asked, not expecting an answer.

"One," the man replied.

"Good to know," Arsen nodded. His eyes darted towards the open door.

"You'll be dead before you hit the ground," One said sharply without elaborating further. It wasn't necessary.

"I wasn't going to run."

One snapped a pair of handcuffs after he pinned Arsen's hands in front of him.

"Where am I going?"

Again, no answer.

"This hot-and-cold thing you've got going on, talking to me and then not, it's getting annoying."

Arsen heaved an ever-suffering sigh.

"Taketh me wherever we art traversing to, One."

One gave Arsen a strange look and a muffled chuckle came from the other side of the glass door.

"Are you Two?" Arsen asked.

One mumbled a curse under his breath. "The medicine must still be making him loopy."

"Told you we shouldn't have given him so much."

"Well, if he had just shut up—"

Arsen was shoved forward roughly, stumbling and almost falling. The cuffs, being clutched tightly by One, were the only thing keeping him upright. They cut into his wrists harshly, drawing blood.

Arsen bit his tongue to keep a stinging retort down.

"Bag him, we're taking him to Blackjack."

A burlap sack, one that Arsen had seen used for bagging potatoes multiple times, was pulled over his head and he was lead clumsily in what seemed like endless circles until he was stopped. The bag was pulled from his head. It took his eyes a moment to adjust.

"Where—oh." Arsen locked eyes with a professional-looking man, in about his mid-fifties. There was something vaguely familiar about him, Arsen felt like he should salute or something.

"Mr. Ashford."

Arsen recognized his voice, it was the same one as when he first woke up.

"Please, sit," the older man motioned at a chair at his desk, across from him. "You're making me feel rude."

Arsen didn't move. Then, he felt a heavy urge, like he needed to. So, involuntarily, he sat.

The man smiled. "Leave us," he told One and Two with a careless flick of his hand.

"The hell did you do?" Arsen muttered, opening and closing his hand in a fist to ensure he still had full control over it. His hand stopped in a fist and he hit himself, drawing an amused chuckle from the man. Arsen muttered a curse underneath his breath.

"I'm really quite proud of my work this time."

Arsen repeated, louder, "What did you do?"

"The human brain is a funny little thing, I will say. Quite malleable. Tell it something enough times and it actually starts to believe it."

The man tilted his head at Arsen.

"Have you ever done it, Mr. Ashford? Tricked your mind?" He laughed at his own joke. This guy laughs too much. I can just cut off his tongue and then—no. But it would've been pretty fun. "Of course, you wouldn't remember."

Arsen shook his head, not comprehending.

"Let me put it simply," the man said. "My name is Lyndon Douglas, the one and only President of the good ol' USA. And your mind," he smiled wickedly, "belongs to me."

"Erm—President?"

The man (President?) sighed in irritation. "Did I stutter, or are you deaf?" Arsen glanced around and observed his surroundings. He cursed himself for being so stupid, he was in the oval office! At least, he thought he was. It looked like it did in the pictures.

"No," said Arsen in a low voice. He rubbed his wrists, tiny pieces of dried blood flaked off. The razor-thin lines from the cuffs had stopped bleeding.

"Show me," Douglas ordered. Not wanting to be forced to, Arsen held out his arms. Douglas examined them closely. "Interesting. A side effect, perhaps, or an additional trait?"

Arsen looked at his arms and saw that the cuts hadn't stopped bleeding—they just weren't there anymore.

"I think I'll have to up the surgeon's paychecks for that, a nice little touch. Beautiful, really, although I hope it doesn't override the self-destruct initiative."

It sounded like Arsen was some kind of machine. He stayed silent, admiring the smooth skin on his arms in wonder.

"It doesn't matter. It may come in handy later. For now, though, I think it's time that we released you into the world. Your girlfriend must be achingly sad at your, ah, 'death'," Douglas chuckled.

"My... my girlfriend?"

"Reyna Laurier. I think you recall her, don't you, shouting her name and everything."

Of course, Douglas had been watching. "She thinks I'm dead?"

"As a dinosaur."

Arsen shook his head. He still wasn't exactly sure whether he was alive or hallucinating. "I don't understand," he said.

"Most people don't."

"Who killed your wife, then? Was it Magnus?" Magnus. The name and familiar hostility associated with it floated back to him.

"Magnus, ah, my old friend. I can personally confirm that he is not the assassin. And for who is, Mr. Ashford, that's for you to figure out yourself."

Arsen kept the hood of his jacket up, turning his head downwards to hide his face. He did not want to be recognized.

With each gaze at the city, more memories returned—Holly loves that pizza place. Who was Holly again? My sister.

He had a sister? A father, a dead mother too.

Wonderful.

The air was growing colder. Winter was approaching the city rapidly. 

He pulled his suit jacket closer around his body.

Although through each year, the air warmed the smallest amount, it still snowed regularly. Arsen always hated the cold.

"Watch your step, Arsen," laughed someone. Arsen had bumped into someone while lost in thought. 

Arsen collected his memories. Ari? Why was he here, shouldn't he hate Arsen?

"You're looking a lot fancier. Did you get a job?" 

"Basically," Arsen muttered, still staring. 

"You okay?"

"Why are you talking to me?"

"What a way to greet me. Hey, I thought we resolved everything?"

"Didn't you move out?"

"We went over this, Arsen." Ari was beginning to look genuinely worried. 

"I--I don't remember," Arsen murmured, frustrated. 

Ari spoke again, just Arsen's name, soft and questioning. 

Arsen looked up suddenly. "Can you tell me where I am?"

"Brooklyn, are you okay?"

Arsen looked around. "Yeah. Brooklyn." 

He pushed past a confused Ari and ran out into the street, narrowly avoiding getting hit by several cars. 

Ari chased after him, but Arsen waved down a taxi, pulled out the previous passenger by the shirt collar, climbed in, and slammed the door shut.

"Home," Arsen ordered. "Take me home."