THE BOY WHO ASKED QUESTIONS
1500 Words
Finn was waiting in the kitchen when Declan walked in.
The boy had poured his own cereal—milk first, then the cereal, the opposite of how Declan had taught him. He was eating slowly, his eyes fixed on the window, watching the trees sway in the morning breeze.
"Hey, buddy," Declan said, ruffling his hair. "You're up early."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Bad dreams?"
"No." Finn put down his spoon. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About the man who came to the house yesterday. The one in the black dress."
Declan sat down across from him. "That was Mrs. Chen. David Chen's mother."
"The man who died?"
"Yes."
Finn was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Are you going to jail?"
The question hit Declan like a punch to the chest.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe. Probably not. The prosecutor said they're not pursuing charges right now."
"But they could change their minds."
"They could."
"Would you go to jail for a long time?"
"Years. Maybe."
Finn's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want you to go to jail."
Declan reached across the table and took his son's hand. "I don't want to go to jail either. That's why I'm trying to do the right thing. To make amends. To show everyone that I'm not the same person I used to be."
"Are you different?"
"I'm trying to be."
Finn pulled his hand away and picked up his spoon. "Mom says people don't change. She says they just get better at hiding who they really are."
"Mom is wrong."
"Mom is never wrong."
Declan almost smiled. "Mom is wrong sometimes. Just like me. Just like everyone."
Finn thought about that for a moment.
Then he said, "I think you've changed. You're nicer now. You spend more time with me. You don't get angry as much."
"I'm trying."
"Keep trying, Dad. Okay?"
"Okay, buddy. I will."
---
Declan drove Finn to school.
The other parents still stared. Still whispered. Still pointed their phones. But fewer than before. The novelty was wearing off. The world was moving on.
Finn ran to join his friends on the playground, waving over his shoulder.
Declan waved back.
Then he drove to the police station.
---
Morrison was waiting in his office.
"Sit down," the detective said. "We have a problem."
Declan sat. "What kind of problem?"
"Elias Vance's lawyer is filing an appeal. He claims the evidence against his client was obtained illegally. He wants a new trial."
"He's not going to get one."
"Maybe not. But the appeal will tie up the case for months. Years, even. And while that's happening, Elias is going to be sitting in a county jail, waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For someone to make a mistake. For a witness to recant. For a piece of evidence to be thrown out." Morrison leaned forward. "He's dangerous, Declan. Even in prison. He has connections. Money. Power. He's not going to stop just because he's behind bars."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to be careful. Watch your back. Watch your son's back. Elias has already shown he's willing to hurt the people you love."
Declan's jaw tightened. "He's in prison."
"Prison isn't a barrier. Not for someone like him."
Morrison stood up and walked to the window. "I've seen a lot of criminals in my career. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. But Elias Vance is different. He doesn't just break the law—he breaks people. He gets inside their heads and twists them until they don't know who they are anymore."
"He tried to do that to me."
"And he almost succeeded. Don't let him try again."
Declan stood up. "I won't."
He walked out of the office.
But Morrison's words followed him.
He's not going to stop.
---
That afternoon, Declan visited Valentina.
She was living in a new apartment—small, clean, on the outskirts of the city. No more extended-stay motels. No more running.
"Morrison told you about the appeal?" she asked as she let him in.
"He told me."
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? I already testified. I already confessed. There's nothing else I can give them."
Valentina led him to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. "There's always something else. A new witness. A new piece of evidence. A new angle."
"Like what?"
"Like the other patients. The ones from the basement. Some of them are starting to talk. Starting to remember. Their testimony could be enough to keep Elias behind bars, appeal or no appeal."
"How many are talking?"
"Three so far. Maybe more in the coming weeks."
"That's not enough."
"It's a start."
Declan took a sip of coffee. It was too hot. He set the cup down.
"I've been thinking about something," he said. "Elias injected himself with that drug. The one that erases memories. He woke up not knowing who he was. And then the memories came back."
"Some of them. Not all."
"But they came back. Which means the drug isn't permanent. Which means whatever he gave me might not be permanent either."
Valentina's eyes widened. "You want your memories back. The ones he erased."
"I want to remember what happened in that basement. What I did. What I saw. What I became."
"Declan, that's dangerous. Those memories were erased for a reason. They almost destroyed you."
"They're a part of me. Whether I remember them or not. And I can't keep running from them."
Valentina was quiet for a long moment.
Then she said, "There's a doctor. A neurologist. She's been studying Elias's drugs, trying to find a way to reverse the effects. She's had some success with animal trials."
"Human trials?"
"Not yet. But she's looking for volunteers."
"I'll volunteer."
"Declan—"
"I'll volunteer." He stood up. "Make the call."
---
The neurologist's name was Dr. Rivera.
She worked at a small research lab on the north side of the city—a nondescript building with no windows and a security guard at the front desk. She was in her forties, with dark hair and kind eyes and a calm voice that reminded Declan of a therapist he'd seen years ago.
"You understand the risks," she said, leading him into an examination room.
"I understand."
"The treatment is experimental. We don't know if it will work. We don't know what side effects it might have. You could experience headaches, nausea, memory fragmentation, even seizures."
"I've experienced worse."
Dr. Rivera studied him for a moment. "Why do you want to do this? Why do you want to remember?"
"Because the memories are mine. Because Elias took them from me. Because I can't move forward until I know what I'm moving forward from."
She nodded slowly.
"Lie down on the table," she said. "We'll begin."
---
The machine was loud.
A low hum that vibrated through Declan's skull, through his teeth, through his bones. Dr. Rivera stood behind a glass screen, watching monitors, adjusting dials.
"Tell me what you see," she said.
Declan closed his eyes.
Darkness.
Then light.
A corridor. Concrete walls. Fluorescent lights that flickered.
The basement.
He was walking. His footsteps echoed. His breath was shallow.
A door at the end of the corridor. Red. Steel.
He opened it.
Inside was a room. White walls. A single chair.
And in the chair sat a woman.
Lara.
Her eyes were open. Her mouth was moving. But no sound came out.
"I'm here to help you," Declan heard himself say.
Lara shook her head.
He's watching, she mouthed. He's always watching.
Declan turned.
Elias stood in the doorway, smiling.
"You shouldn't be here," Elias said.
"I'm taking her out of here."
"No. You're not."
Elias pressed a button on the wall.
The lights went out.
The door slammed shut.
And Declan was alone in the darkness with Lara and the sound of her crying.
---
The memory shifted.
He was in the tunnel now. The maintenance tunnel. Gravel under his feet. Water dripping from the ceiling.
Lara was beside him, her hand in his.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Away. Somewhere safe."
"Where?"
"I don't know yet. But we'll find it."
They walked faster.
Behind them, footsteps.
Declan looked back.
Roman. The man in the gray coat. His face was blank. His eyes were empty.
"Elias wants her back," Roman said.
"She's not going back."
"Then I have to take her by force."
Roman lunged.
Declan pushed Lara behind him and met Roman's charge. They crashed against the wall, fists swinging, grunts echoing.
Roman was stronger. Bigger. Trained.
But Declan was desperate.
He grabbed a pipe from the wall and swung.
Roman went down.
Blood on his face. Blood on Declan's hands.
The memory froze.
Declan opened his eyes.
Dr. Rivera was standing over him, her face pale.
"What did you see?" she asked.
Declan looked at his hands.
They were clean.
But he remembered them covered in blood.
"I remembered," he said. "I remembered everything."
- Writer
