Bad Memory

~ Questions Without Answers ~

"We understand that you're very confused, Shiloh," General Warner told me. "But no more outbursts. You speak only to answer our questions."

I nodded.

"The doctor told us that you don't remember anything after January 5th, 67. What do you remember of that day?"

"I got a call from a friend."

"Lillian Stevens?"

I froze. If they knew I was speaking to a bound woman when I was unbound, I was already in trouble. This interrogation was probably just to figure out how much.

The best strategy was to admit, apologize, and ask for mercy. Elysian punishments could be severe, but they got even worse the more you tried to deny something.

"I'm sorry. I'll accept any punishment deemed appropriate."

The general ignored my response. "What do you remember next?"

I hesitated. The penalty for speaking to a bound woman paled in comparison to the penalty for violating curfew.

"We're not here to punish you, Shiloh," Warner assured me upon seeing my hesitation. "We just need to know what you remember."

"I snuck out to see her," I admitted.

"After curfew?"

I nodded, ashamed.

"What happened next?"

"I don't know," I answered. "That's the last thing I remember."

"Cut the bullshit," General Quade snapped. "You were working with them the whole time, weren't you?"

"With who?"

"The Shadows."

The accusation was so ludicrous that I had to stop myself from laughing. "What?"

Warner glared at Quade before turning back to me. "You were kidnapped right after your Binding Ceremony. You've been with the Shadows for the past four years."

Four years with the Shadows?

One of the machines began to blip more erratically as my pulse increased. The Shadows were a terrorist group responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. They were the reason we had such a strict curfew, the architects for bombings all over the country, and the origins of the parasite that had killed so many. And their crimes were more familiar to me than most.

They had murdered my brother.

Countless questions popped into my head. How did they get me? What did they want with me? Why did they keep me for such a long time? How did I get away?

"They didn't kidnap her," General Quade sneered. "Admit it. You've been working with them this entire time. You're their little whore."

Uncontrollable rage took hold of me at Quade's insinuation. "Those animals murdered my brother," I spat.

"Which makes you even more of a disgrace," Quade fired back, malice dancing in his eyes.

"Simeon," the other general warned. "Shiloh, you don't remember anything about them? What any of them looked like? Where they took you?"

I shook my head.

"Does the name Jupiter mean anything to you?" he pressed.

"The planet?"

The two exchanged a look before Warner resumed questioning.

"What about these pictures?"

The general laid out a half dozen photos on my hospital bed. They each featured a profile shot of a different man - some slightly blurry as if they were taken from far away and zoomed in afterward. My gaze lingered on the photo on the bottom left. I picked it up and studied the man on it - a messy tangle of blonde hair and lips pulled tight in a grim expression.