Where the good things go (memory audit)

 

Semantic memory (concepts)

 

White blood leaked from the hole in his brother's forehead. Rain thrummed the fishing hut roof.

Ben placed the gun on the table. His hands shook. His head ached. There was a spritz of white gunk on the wall behind Jack's head.

'You do good things,' he'd said to Jack, seconds before.

I don't want to be close to anyone ever again, he'd thought. 

He unfolded the scrap of paper Jack had tossed him. It was an address. A crude map. Jack was tired when he spoke. His eyes were red. His arms were cut up.

'I think this is where it began. You've been there before,' he'd said. 'It'll just seem different now. Everything is different.'

Just tell me where it is. Let me get back there. Let me reset. Let me rest.

He'd choked as he aimed.

'I'm trying to help you,' he'd said.

No-one is trying to help anyone anymore.

Jack's body slumped to the right. The white fluid dribbling from the wound in his head coalesced. It tapered, wound, and became spools of string unwinding and flickering. The threads strained; they spidered through the air, pawed the walls, formed ropey stitchwork on the wooden slats.

Ben grabbed the note and stumbled out the hut.

*

The road was dark. Rain spat at the windshield. Headlights sheared past. Ben checked the note as the wipers flapped streaks.

- You've been there before. It'll just seem different now.-

Jack seemed different. Jack had crossed over. Jack bled white stringy shit.

- I'm trying to help you. -

I'm trying to help you by cutting the last ties. You were made somewhere else. We all were.

His own headlights dipped and rose. The shape of a farm manifested in the field to the left. He slowed and pulled over. Gravel snapped under the tires. He killed the engine.

Low clouds veiled the moon. The house was a silhouette. The barn was a silhouette. He saw shapes moving through the black field. Crooked marionettes, cast in the glow of odd lights. He ducked down low. He eased the door open. He slipped out.

The lights clarified as he moved towards the fence. He slid on the muddy bank. When he pulled himself up he could see four bright tubes rising into the night sky. It was beautiful. It was sensory overkill. He stopped. He gaped. He lost all sense of time. Dark figures moved towards him.

A bald man flopped over the fence. A clean white dome. Strings of waxy pus leaked from his empty eye sockets. More men broke from the dark to grope at his back. Ben turned. He scrabbled down the bank. He wrenched the car door open and fled.

*

The following night he played it safer. He parked further from the farm. He hunkered down close to the fence and crawled on approach. The shape of the barn rose as a black cut-out. He clambered over the fence.

The field was empty. There were no lights. There were no fucked-up pus-people. Everything was soft and still.

He walked. He aimed for his memory of the lights. It felt familiar. It felt like a place Jack might have known, when Jack was still himself. There was some peace here, thrown out across decades. 

- You do good things -

What good things had he done? He couldn't remember now. He put Jack out of his misery, before he became someone else. 

A large hole in the ground stopped him. It was cleanly cut, like an empty swimming pool. Ben kneeled and squinted. There were more holes set within it. Four circular holes.

He looked around again. There was nobody else in the field. The house and the barn were far away. He felt like he could remember standing here. There was a sadness in that.

He sat on the edge of the hole, swung round, and lowered himself down. He dropped onto soft dirt. Within its confines he examined the four smaller holes. They were set in a rough square. Steel ladders disappeared down each. 

Ben looked up at the starless night. He thought of Jack. He thought of the good things he'd done. He wondered where they'd gone. Where the good things go. 

He picked a hole and lowered himself onto the ladder.

*

Gluey white string intersected to form a tight wall around him as he descended. It was slow and laborious. Threads snaked out to bind with the ladder. He slapped them away. He slithered and slipped. He grasped and wheezed. His feet touched a steel base. He slumped down. His chest stung. His arms were numb.

He was standing on a vast steel bridge. It spanned a enormous drop. White water boiled far beneath. He edged out onto it. He clutched at steel supports and pulled himself across. In the distance he could see rows of mountains. They were clear white. They looked like they were made of glistening string.

Abruptly the frame of the bridge bent upright and he could walk no further. A bald man sat at this junction, swinging his legs off the edge. Ben looked at him, then looked up. The 'bridge' continued to bend and twist far above him, forming angular buildings in which more bald men sat. 

The water roared far below. The little bald man near him glanced up. His eye sockets were empty. Gluey trails dribbled from them.  

'What is this place?' Ben asked. There was weight in the spoken words. They hung and distorted in the air. The men in the strange steel buildings above rustled and peered.

The man beside him looked down into the abyss. Clots of pus hung from his sockets.

'This was where people were,' he muttered.

Something flared and died within Ben. He sat beside the bald man. 

They sat together a long time. Ben grew old, and small, and bald. White string leeched from his eyes and ran down to join the ocean far below. Centuries passed. The steel beam grew and twisted. Thousands of people sat alone in their little steel shapes as the world passed into something else.

 

Declarative memory (facts/events)

 

He huddled in the dark of the fishing hut. Moonlight sieved through the slats. He read Jack's note.

- You've been there before. It'll just seem different now. -

Ben flexed his hand. His head swam. Jack felt far away. They'd grown up to be so different.

He crumpled the note. Rain ate the noise. Chimes ricocheted over the hut door as he left.

The night seemed close and malignant. He drove slowly. Headlights passed as luminous streamers. He replayed Jack's last words. He rewound and pinned and pulled:

'I'm not right for this world. I'm not right for this time. I don't... I don't know how to partake in it. I don't know how to be.'

He'd drawn his sleeve across his nose, smeared a noose of mucus. He'd choked and wept. This was in the fishing hut. Or was it at the bridge? It was somewhere they'd been before. Why did he not keep these things close? They should be the most important things.

'You do good things,' he'd told Jack. Was that right? Was that of any use at all? It was what he felt. 

Jack had smeared blood. His arms were cut up. There was a gun. Or a fatal drop. It hurt, but he should remember. It should be close.

'You mustn't lose heart,' he'd said to Jack. 'It's too big. There's too much. Too much waiting to fill it.'

It hurt to speak like this, too. It wasn't natural.

The farm rose up to the left. The shape of the barn was clipped from deeper layers of night. He pulled over and got out. He shook the cramp from his legs. He scaled the fence and walked to the hole at the centre of the field. There were lights on in the farmhouse as he passed. He thought that perhaps there were people there. People he'd known.

He dropped into the large hole and paced round the smaller openings within, wiping dirt from his hands. He selected a hole and clambered down the ladder.

It was dark. Stringy white fronds laced the ladder. His feet touched wet grass. He trampled twigs underfoot. He was in a forest clearing. Trees were dotted around. Jack sat slumped at the base of one.

Everything spooled in slow motion. Jack looked up. His wrists were bleeding.

'I'm not right for this world,' he mumbled.

Ben moved closer. He felt jerky and restrained in his movements. The trees were closer now. Branches scraped at his face. His mind whirred.

'I feel like that. I feel like that... sometimes. But you have to - '

Jack's face distorted. It became an awful mask. His frame blinked twice and disappeared. Rain fell; a soft drizzle, then a heavy blanket. Ben shivered. Jack reappeared at the base of a tree behind him. He was pale. His eyes were moist.

'I'm not right for this world,' he whispered.

Ben moved closer. His hair was pasted to his scalp.

'Don't be so fucking selfish,' he snapped. 'Don't be such a fucking wretch. Don't you think we're all in the same boat? How the fuck are your issues any more - '

Jack's body blinked twice, and disappeared. Ben stood, head bowed, in the clearing. Rain grazed him. He walked back to the ladder and climbed up.

At the top he tripped and scrambled. It was darker now. The four holes emitted a strange glow. He ran over to the next hole and gripped the first ladder rung, swinging down.

His shoes touched concrete at the bottom. It was quieter here. It was dark.

A small room. A desk. A candle. He squinted. A small man in a suit sat scribbling at the desk. The candle flickered. Ben could see rows of shelves behind the man. Rows and rows, stuffed with files.

He moved forward. The candle wavered. The man looked up. He nudged his glasses up his nose. Ben read the small desk sign: 'Admin'.

'Yes?' The administrator wheezed.

Ben glanced between the terse little face and the shelves. He coughed.

'I was just... I was in one of the other... holes, and I found my brother, he's... he wasn't well, and I - '

The administrator's thin lips twisted into a grimace. He dropped his pencil pointedly. He rose from his chair. 

'Name,' he said, moving over to the shelves.

'Ben.'

The administrator cupped his hands together and muttered 'Ben' into them. He spread his hands out wide and waved. He clapped them once. Dust rose from the files. Ben peered into the corridor behind the desk. Various sections of the shelves began lighting up; soft blue colours, here and there.

'This may take some time,' the administrator snapped. 'Some archives have not been well maintained. Not at all. Let me see... your brother, your brother... '

He grumbled as he snatched sheets of paper from the shelves cast in a blue hue.

'Jack,' he shouted, waving a sheet. He nudged his glasses as he read. 'Your brother. He killed himself in a fishing hut.'

'No,' said Ben. 'No, that's not right. He wasn't well, I tried to - '

The administrator sighed and raised his hand. His shoes clipped as he ventured further down the corridor. He seized another file wreathed in blue light. His eyes narrowed. He spun round, dramatically.

'Jack. You killed him in a fishing hut! A heinous crime. Fratricide! What a world... '

Ben ground his palms into his eyes. 'No! It's not a memory. It's a nightmare, it's... guilt, or... '

The administrator raised his head and arched an eyebrow. He replaced the file and withdrew another.

'Jack,' he hissed. 'Jack. He killed himself at a bridge, he threw himself - '

'No!' Ben moved to the desk. The administrator seemed very far away now. He could barely see him in the spill of candlelight. 'No, he didn't. We were all trying to... we all wanted him to be happy. He did good things, he was just... '

He heard groans and curses. The administrator was too far away for him to see. The candle was dying. He watched the dark corridor, the spots of blue light.

'Jack,' he heard. 'He spent a long time in hospital. Therapy. He took up painting, which he enjoyed. He moved into mental health work. He called every weekend - '

'That's it,' Ben chirped. 'That's it! That one.' He wrung his hands. He felt desperate.

The administrator clicked back down the corridor. He reappeared at the desk, his face red and twitchy. He opened a drawer beneath him and removed a little blue ball. He looked Ben in the eyes.

'You're sure this is the one you want?' 

Ben gripped the desk. 'Yes.'

The administrator peered. The candle died. His ancient features bled into the darkness.

'You're sure?'

'Yes!'

The administrator crumpled the file. He unclipped a little panel on the side of the blue ball and stuffed the file into it. He sighed and sat down. He held the ball out to Ben.

'I apologise. It's a busy time of year. I wish you all the very best. Please arrange an appointment if there's anything else you require.'

Ben nodded and forced a smile. He reached. The ball flopped from the administrator's hand and hung suspended between them. Then it shot up into the air, past the ladder and out the hole above them. A thin trail of blue quivered in its wake. The administrator leapt up from his desk.

'Damnation! You clumsy wretch! My file! My file! My monthly audits are due! My audits!'

Ben stared at his little red face. He spun round and ran over to the ladder, chasing the dying blue trail.

 

Episodic memory (unique memory of a specific event)

 

He raced up the bridge. His chest twinged.  

A wash of emergency vehicle lights. Clusters of people. Cars at odd angles. Yellow tape. Roadblocks.

He could see Jack's skinny shape. Legs dangling over the edge. He felt lost and clueless. He felt lost and clueless every day. He pushed on. Uniformed figures conferred around him. Talking. Pointing. Leading. Gentle hands. His own hands trembled.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix anything. I don't even know this person, really. I never gave him my time. I never gave anything.

Jack's eyes were moist and red. He drew a sleeve across his nose. Ben huddled beside him. They both stared down at the drop.

'Jack. Jack, look at me.'

Jack's lips trembled. He scratched at his arms. They were raw with cuts.

'I'm not right for this world,' he coughed. 'I don't know how to partake in it. I don't know how to be.'

Ben looked at the water far below. He felt far away.

'I feel like that, sometimes,' he said. They sat in silence. Jack rubbed his forehead.

Ben paused. 'I don't think I've - I've not done enough, and then I feel like that too. I've not... not connected enough, or something. But I think you're a hero, for everything you do and are. I think you're a hero. And you mustn't lose heart. It's too big. It's too big, and there's too much waiting to fill it.'

Jack sniffled. He stared down and then up at Ben. Something passed between them. Ben took his hand, slowly. They stood, slowly. They walked back to the thrum of people.

 

Episodic

 

He knocked on the farmhouse door. It opened. His father leaned out. He looked around. He looked at Ben and Jack. He was thinner than Ben remembered. He ushered them in. They helped Jack up the steps. They helped him up to his old bedroom.

They sat in the living room whilst Jack slept. Hours passed. His father smoked. Ben sipped coffee. The fire painted spectral wraithes upon the walls.

He moved to leave. He shrugged his jacket on and stared about the room. He felt centuries old. Lifetimes within lifetimes. He looked at his father and coughed.

'I feel like... I feel like I should have said more, about... '

His father shook his head and smiled.

'The past is the past. Leave it there. We just want you all to be happy, now.'

The fireplace crackled.

 

Episodic/Semantic

 

The strange steel bridge twisted away above them. Little bald men peered from the angular buildings it formed in its wake. In the distance, lumpy white mountains were shrouded with mist.

Ben sat beside the bald man on the bridge. They swung their legs over the side and stared into the abyss.

'What do you mean, 'this was where people were'?' Ben asked.

The man looked round. White dregs glooped from his eye sockets.

'There was nothing else to find,' he murmured. 'And then nothing else at all.'

They watched the water boiling far below. The bridge creaked. The bald men above strained to watch them. Ben's companion scrunched up his forehead. He leaned in close.

'Do you - do you find things?' He asked.

 

Short-term (<1 min)

 

Jack's eyes were bright. He was still skinny, but his face glowed. He talked fast.

'It's not much,' he said. 'But I start my new job on Monday, and I'll have more... money then. It was just to say - just to say... '

Ben looked down at the painting. Four circular portraits. From the top left - Mum, Dad. Jack. Himself. Thin blue colouring as a backdrop. Thin blue threads.

Jack looked excited.

'It's perfect, man,' said Ben. 'Good work. Good job.'

Jack smiled.

 

Sensory (<1 sec)

 

Water moved far below.

Jack sniffled. Ben found his hand. He clasped it. Something passed between them.

Ben found his hand.