THE ASSASSINATED PRESIDENT

The first time Kaelen Veyr died, the entire country was watching. The second time, no one knew who he was. He awoke to the smell of burnt coffee and rain. He lay still for a moment, taking in the water stains on the ceiling above his head. Something had woken him, but he couldn't remember what. His heart pounded in his chest, faster than it should have for just waking up. The dream came back to him then. The gunshot. Kaelen sat up, his hand flying to his chest. Nothing. No wound, no blood, just the neat little scar on his collarbone. He traced its curve with a steadying finger. "Again?" His own voice seemed foreign in the darkness. The same dream that plagued him for years. A long road. Black cars. Rain on the windshield. An anguished cry of his own name followed by blinding light. And then nothing. Kaelen swung his legs over the side of the bed, waiting for his thundering heart to slow. The clock on the nightstand read 5:17 a.m.. "Wonderful." He muttered, rubbing his eyes. At thirty-two, Kaelen had accepted that his dreams would not stop. They never revealed enough to warrant answers, and he'd grown tired of chasing ghosts. He stood and crossed the modest apartment, pulling the curtains open to reveal a city still clinging to its sleep. Across the street, a baker unlocked his front door, and somewhere down the road, a woman in a yellow raincoat hurried towards the bus stop, her newspaper held overhead. Further down, Kaelen could see two men standing off, arguing about whose stupid car was in whose way. Everyday life. Kaelen envied people who could remember where they came from. As for him... the first memory he could recall with any clarity was waking up in a hospital seven years ago. A woman had asked him his name. He'd looked at her and blinked. "Elias Vey." It was the first name that had come to him. No one had bothered to question him further. Thus, Elias Vey became someone's name. He got a job. He rented this apartment. He paid his taxes and learned to live with the mystery. He stopped trying to find his past. Until that morning. The television in the corner flickered to life, loud and sudden. He'd forgotten to turn it off last night. The woman onscreen stood in front of a vast memorial covered in flowers. "Today marks seven years since the assassination of President Kaelen Veyr." Something inside Kaelen seized. His coffee cup clattered to the floor, shattering with a sharp sound that should have startled him, but he was too stunned to care. The screen changed to a picture, and Kaelen leaned closer, the room pressing in around him. A young man stood behind a podium, smiling at an adoring crowd. And then the world narrowed in on Kaelen's pupils. The man in the photograph had his face. Not a passing resemblance. His face. The same eyes. The same mouth. Even the little scar on his right eyebrow. His fingers twitched against the skin of his neck. The woman onscreen continued talking. "...when his motorcade was ambushed outside of the capital. The President's death remains one of the most controversial political assassinations in recorded history..." Kaelen couldn't hear the words. His knees buckled. He gripped the table, his breath coming in short, hitching gasps. A strange pressure built behind his eyes, and then- A woman's shrieking. A black car skidding on the wet pavement. A man in a dark suit opening a door. “Mr. President, get down!” Kaelen staggered backwards, the vision dissolving. He was back in the apartment, heart hammering, lungs burning. He looked down at his hands, his fingers still trembling. President. The word refused to leave his mind. Kaelen turned back to the television. The woman was standing in front of the presidential palace now, showing footage of the riots that had erupted after the shooting. Crowds of people surged forward, police officers shielding their eyes from the smoke bombs, and a single body bag being wheeled away on a stretcher, covered in a white flag. Kaelen stared at the image. Something deep in his soul whispered "That isn't me." Another voice whispered back, "You know it is." His phone rang. Kaelen almost jumped out of his skin. Unknown number. He hesitated for a long moment before answering. "Hello?" A pause. "Who is this?" More breathing. Then a man's voice said, "Do you remember the presidential vault?" Kaelen's blood ran cold. "What did you say?" "You shouldn't have watched the news." "Who are you?!" The voice ignored him. "Listen to me carefully. They're coming for you." The line went dead. Kaelen stood, paralyzed, until the distant sound of cars grew louder outside. He was still staring at the television when the first SUV pulled up across the street. More arrived, and figures in dark suits climbed out. Not police. Not that there would be any help if there were. Kaelen turned away, his instincts screaming at him to run. He grabbed his jacket, shoved it on, and barely had time to register the door being kicked in before two men came barreling inside. The first raised a gun, and Kaelen dropped to the floor. Another shot rang out, the bullet embedding itself in the wall where his head had been. He rolled behind the couch. "What the hell?!" Kaelen's eyes darted to the second man, who was circling the furniture. Without thinking, Kaelen did the only thing he could. He grabbed the man's arm, twisted, and drove his shoulder into the man's gut, sending him reeling backwards against the wall. For once in his life, Kaelen was glad for the combat training that had become second nature. It was the best training he'd ever received, even if he didn't remember why. The first man lunged, and Kaelen grabbed the coffee mug he'd dropped earlier, slashing at the man's throat with a sharp motion. The man crumpled. Kaelen's breath came in short gasps as he stared at the man on the floor. "What am I?" A third man stood in the doorway, his weapon trained on Kaelen. The man's eyes widened as he took in the scene. "Oh my god." Kaelen turned to look at him, and the man said into his radio, "Confirming visual." There was a pause. "The President is alive." A shot rang out from the street, and the man collapsed. Kaelen stumbled back, his heart hammering. He ran, down the stairs, across the alley, out onto the street until he was far enough that he could stop. A restaurant across the street had a television on, showing the same memorial as before. Kaelen looked up. The woman onscreen was speaking with an elderly man who said, "My son was one of the President's bodyguards. He died that night." The television changed to a headline that read, WHO REALLY KILLED PRESIDENT VEYR? , and Kaelen turned away. A hand touched his shoulder. He spun around, and a woman, dressed in a dark coat and with wet hair, regarded him as if she'd seen a ghost. Actually, she looked like one. Her lips parted. "Kaelen?" "I think you have me confused with someone else." Kaelen took a step back. She didn't move. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, and then she laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. "You always make that face when you're lying to me." Kaelen's stomach twisted. "I don't know you." "I know you." Her eyes glistened, and she whispered, "You really don't remember." "Who are you?" "Seraphine Vale." That name meant nothing to Kaelen, but the moment she said it, another memory surfaced. A balcony. City lights. Her laughter as she leaned against him, his hand in hers. And then a photograph, a black folder, and a red stamp that read OPERATION SILENT CROWN. Kaelen grabbed the side of the building, and Seraphine caught his arm. "Kaelen!" He turned to her. "What is Silent Crown?" She went pale. "You... you remembered that?" "What did it mean?!" Seraphine glanced around the market. "Not here." "Then where?" "Somewhere no one can hear us." Kaelen pulled his arm free. "You're going to tell me everything." "I will." Seraphine fixed her gaze on his eyes. "But first, there's something you need to know." "What?!" "You've spent seven years convincing yourself that you lost your memory because of the explosion." Kaelen said nothing. Seraphine's voice dropped to a whisper. "You didn't." A chill ran down his spine. "What are you saying?!" "Someone erased it." Kaelen stared at her, and across the street, a car passed slowly alongside the market. Seraphine's eyes went wide. "We need to go." "Why?!" Kaelen turned to the car, but Seraphine grabbed his arm. "Because the people who erased your memories just found you." The car stopped. Three doors opened. Kaelen turned to Seraphine. Then he looked at the men coming out of the car, and for the first time in seven years- he felt something akin to peace. Not fear, not even anger, but something deeper, an ancient part of himself that recognized the challenge. Kaelen Veyr straightened, and for the first time, he wasn't running away. "Seraphine." "Yes?" Kaelen studied the men approaching them through the rain. "Where is the presidential palace?" Seraphine blinked. "Why?" His gaze never left the men in the street. "Because apparently," Kaelen said, "I have a country to take back."