Selective Amnesia

12-23 YC 115

0530-1400

The Other was enjoying himself.  It was always enjoyable wielding power.  Still, the night was not without frustrations.  Shalee hadn't been able to answer his questions regarding Red, the little holographic projection of some subset of Shalee's subconscious that Ryven had met on several occasions.  She said she didn't know how Red was able to exist.  The Other believed her, largely because her explanation made sense.  Shalee was not the sort of person who would want a part of her running amok without her control or even awareness.  That sort of thing, however, was exactly what the Other wanted.  Freedom.  Better yet, freedom coupled with absolute immunity from harm.

These thoughts were eating at him, and it had distracted him from enjoying his other task for the night.  He looked down at the floor and the two bodies sprawled out in unnatural poses, the twin pools of blood having merged into one large crimson puddle.  Already their skin had lost its rosy vitality and the pallor of death had set in.  His eyes gleamed with the thrill of memory.  He didn't even know their names, but he imagined that gods often did not know the names of their sacrifices.  These two had died to serve a purpose, to sustain him.  Urges like his could not be suppressed forever, and the release had been bordering on ecstatic.  It felt good to be himself again, not just relegated to a dusty cage at the back of Ryven's mind.  He had followed these two, a man and wife, he imagined anyway, back from dinner.  They hadn't struggled much, really.  Just enough to make it enjoyable.  He sighed to himself, realizing it was time to head back.

On the long shuttle flight back to Cerra Manor, he began to formulate a new plan to achieve his first goal of the evening.  Clearly, Shalee had been a forlorn hope.  The task would've been much simpler if she had been able to help him, but it was by no means impossible now.  He would simply have to find the answers himself, or perhaps with the help of an old friend--or even ex-wife.  Yes, Leela might be able to help, and he hadn't spoken to her in some time, after all.  Yes.  Shalee was unnecessary to the overall plan.  He smiled to himself. She might still be useful for other pursuits, though.  His hatred of Ryven was another force driving him, stronger even than his need to kill.  Ryven would have to pay, pay for his colossal arrogance in thinking he could imprison him. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ryven awoke and knew.  He knew that the Other had been in control.  He didn't know what he had done, but he could tell.  He was lying on the floor, still dressed in the all black outfit that the Other seemed to prefer.  His muscles were sore from what he could only assume had been an intense physical exertion.  Ryven picked himself up off the floor and walked into the bathroom of his and Kat's suite.  He stared at himself in the mirror, haunted by his own reflection.  He knew now that this was what his life had become.  He was the lycanthrope, the mythical werewolf, afraid of what he would become when the moon rose and the beast within would take control.  Strange that such a silly myth would so closely mimic the reality he was now forced to face.  

Ryven closed his eyes and desperately tried to calm his mind.  He couldn't let this be his future.  Whatever the Other was after, it couldn't be as simple as some random murders.  No.  There had to be something more sinister, and yet something more grand as well.  His past self was clearly a violent and deranged one, but he was also an intelligent and scheming one.  So, what could it be?  What was the Other planning?  And did he dare try to stop him?  What would happen to Kat if he did?  What about Shalee, even?  They weren't on great terms at the moment, but some part of him still considered her a friend, even if he couldn't pinpoint why anymore.  Ryven slammed his fist down on the counter.  "Damnit!  How can I fight someone who knows my every thought, memory, and fear?" The simplest way would be to also know their every thought, memory, and fear.  He thought to himself.  Why don't I?  How is he blocking me out?  Goddamnit!  We share the same damn brain.  How is he locking me out?  Ryven lashed out at the wall, his fist striking hard against the solid material, and he thought he felt a bone break.  Patience.  Patience has never been one of my virtues, and I've always been short on virtues besides that.  But, I can't act without knowing something, anything, about what it is I'm trying to fight.  I need more information, intel on which to act.  With that thought, Ryven turned and walked out of the bathroom, steeling himself for whatever consequences the Other's nocturnal activities might have brought him.

One, Two, Ryven's Coming for You

Ryven fought sleep as long as he could, realizing the futility of the struggle.  After all, he couldn't stay awake forever.  He was clenched with fear, a dread unlike any he'd ever known.  It was chilling, and the icy current flowing through his veins bore with it the paralyzing certainty of failure.  He could not keep the Other at bay.  His ascendency was inevitable.  Ryven would have wept if he hadn't already cried himself to the point where no tears would come.  Instead he lay in bed, cradling himself, trembling.  Fear was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and in its sheer intensity, he had succumbed to it and the walls had swept in around him, crushing him, suffocating him, rendering him but a husk.

He lay there, perhaps for hours.  The time that passed was a stranger to him.  The world around him faded until there was only him and the fear, and sleep, which circled like wolves.  As his eyes finally became too leaden to remain open, he choked out a desperate "No!" before he lost consciousness and the Other took over.

His body lay motionless, and he felt himself fading into blackness.  It would be hours before he returned.  Now there was only the Other, who's eyes popped open and immediately grinned.  He pulled himself up off the bed, his eyes scanning around the room, reveling in his triumphant return to the world.  He quickly returned from his reveling, however, a sense of purpose taking over. There's work to do.  He went into his wardrobe and put on an outfit that reminded him of his old life. 

He checked to make sure he had a weapon.  A blade.  He didn't think it would be necessary, but it could come in handy.  Now, it was time to find Shalee.  He had some questions he needed answered.

The Break

Cerra Manor: Ryven and Kat's Suite

12-22  11:49:00


Ryven stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his eyes peering into those of his reflected self.  His mind still raced after losing his temper the night before.  Kat had managed to calm him, but she hadn't truly remedied the problem.  The problem was simply that he carried too many ghosts with him.  He was haunted by his past, by his choices, by the scars both physical and the unseen cicatrices of his psyche: elaborate, tragic, beautiful pink traces of wounds real and imagined.  Like a drogue, they continued to pull at him, to hold him back, and yet to render him immovable in the storm.  He examined his reflection, noting the pale complexion, the spiderweb of red vessels in his bloodshot eyes, the shadow of unshaven stubble on his skin, the dark circles around his eyes, and the sudden arrival of unbidden gray flecks in his recently grown hair.  He was a mess, plain and simple.  He began to think he ought to call his shrink. 

"Why call him?  That fraud.  He doesn't see it.  He can't see the masterpiece in front of his own eyes." The voice came from Ryven's left.

Ryven turned and found himself staring at himself, but younger, dressed in dark black cargo pants, black shirt, and full length black coat: Ryven's old clothing, from a time since past, but never truly forgotten.  The apparition spoke again. "I felt it was time we spoke, face to face.  There's just something more--" he waved his hand. "real--about talking this way."  The apparition grinned, but there was no mirth there.

Ryven's pulse quickened as he was confronted with this vision. "I'm having a psychotic break, aren't I?  This is what the doctor warned me about.  He said this was a possibility.  That I would eventually break.  Hallucinations come with that, right?"

The apparition laughed. "A psychotic break?  Well, sure.  That's probably true.  However, I like to think of this as more of a reunion.  The bringing together of the fragments.  A meeting of the minds, if you will permit a pun in such poor taste."

Ryven's expression indicated that he agreed the pun was in poor taste, even if it was fitting.  "You're the other me.  The old me.  Correct?"

The apparition nodded.

"I thought I was beginning to succeed in suppressing you." Ryven sighed deeply, realizing how mistaken he had been to believe that.

The apparition smiled and shook his head slowly. "Clearly that is not the case, now is it?" The apparition strode past Ryven and sat on the edge of the tub.  "No.  I'd have to say I'm only just getting stronger.  That's how the Haijikiotens are.  You try to snuff us out, and we tend to come right back and bite you in the ass."  The apparition lit up a cigarette.

Ryven nodded, having actually always prided himself on that particular trait. "What is it you want?  You have to have a reason for showing up like this."

The apparition inhaled a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled a slow stream of smoke before answering in a matter of fact tone, his eyes boring into Ryven's.  "I think you know what I want."

Ryven realized that he did know.  He did know and he wasn't thrilled about it. "I can't give you control.  This is my life now!  Not yours!  You're the past.  I'm the future, damnit!"

The apparition laughed, a slow, cold, spiteful laugh. "You want to play rough, then?  I expected as much.  You'll come around.  And if not, well, I'll take over anyway, during your sleep.  Be a shame to hurt that precious Kitty Kat of yours, wouldn't it?  What's the old saying?  There's more than one way to skin a Kat?"

Ryven snarled as he lunged at the apparition, his hands closing around empty air, as he crashed headfirst into the bathtub, gashing his forehead.  The blood blinded him momentarily, and he struggled to wipe it from his eyes.  He swore.  "Goddamn you.  Don't you fucking touch her!  You hear me!?  Don't you fucking dare!"

The apparition laughed. "Or what?"  He was standing by the doorway to the bathroom, cigarette in hand. "You'll hurt yourself?" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Please.  Be sensible."  The apparition walked over and sat next to Ryven on the floor by the tub.

Ryven just stared at the floor, blood still trickling down his face.

The apparition's demeanor softened somewhat. "I tell you what.  I think I have a solution to this little problem."

Ryven gave the apparition a sideways glance.

 The apparition continued. "The truth is, I'm pretty okay with your choice in girlfriends.  I mean, Shalee is a little crazy, but that's fun.  Kat is ridiculously hot, and it's not like I haven't been enjoying that ride, you know?"

Ryven bristled, but realized quickly how ludicrous it was to be upset by that statement.

The apparition continued. "Not to mention, you've got a pretty solid occupation that tends to satisfy the sort of needs a guy like me has.  I mean, you've got power, you get to kill, and hell, you even have pretty nice digs."  He gestured to indicate the suite. "So, I think maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to coexist."

Ryven simply beckoned for the apparition to continue.

"What I want.  Well, what I need really, is something a little more bloody and a little more hands-on.  That business a while back with Leela's brother, you really let me come out and play, you know?  That shit with his heart, well, that wasn't really you, ya know?  That sort of shit is all me."  The apparition smiled, the pleasure of the memory radiating.

Ryven's eyebrow raised of its own accord. "You want me to let you murder people?"

The apparition's eyes gleamed. "I knew you'd catch on!"  He patted Ryven on the shoulder. "Just a few a month should do it.  I'll take control and you'll never even know it happened.  You won't have any memory of it."

"And if I refuse?" Ryven asked, already knowing the answer.

The apparition stood and stretched. "You couldn't stop me if you wanted to." He walked over to the bathroom door and paused, his hand on the doorjamb. "Besides, if you even try to, I'll make Katerina my fucking magnum opus." He walked out the door, muttering a have a nice day as he left.

Ryven sat on the floor, his face bloody, and wept.  He had lost the war.