Chapter 11 - My father's death had never been an accident.It had been a consequence.

He found me.

Not me as his son.

Me as a subject.

I remembered almost nothing from that period.

But now the memories began surfacing in fragments.

A laboratory.

A fluorescent light.

My father's voice.

A door slamming.

My mother crying.

Then a gunshot.

I pressed my palms against my temples.

Gwen held my shoulder.

“Don't force it.”

“I need to remember.”

“You could hurt yourself.”

“I've been hurt enough.”

Marcus pulled up the old files.

“The program started when you were twelve.”

“Why me?”

“Your father volunteered you.”

I turned.

“What?”

“He believed the program could help.”

I stared at him.

“My father wouldn't.”

“He didn't know what it was.”

Marcus showed me a document.

My father's signature.

Consent for neurological treatment.

I felt betrayed all over again.

“He signed this.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you had severe trauma after witnessing an accident.”

“What accident?”

“The death of a soldier.”

“A soldier?”

“Someone your father knew.”

I tried to remember.

A convoy.

Smoke.

Screaming.

A body.

My father pulling me away.

Then nothing.

Gwen looked at the document.

“This wasn't treatment.”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“Prototype memory alteration.”

I looked at Marcus.

“So my father put me into the program.”

“Yes.”

“And then tried to stop it.”

“Yes.”

“He realized what they were doing.”

“Yes.”

“And Blackridge killed him.”

Marcus nodded.

I looked at my mother.

“Did you know?”

She couldn't meet my eyes.

“I knew he was afraid.”

“That's not an answer.”

“I knew.”

My voice went cold.

“And you let it happen.”

She began sobbing.

“I was terrified.”

“So was Dad.”

“I know.”

“No.”

I stepped toward her.

“You don't.”

She looked at me.

“He died believing you would protect me.”

She closed her eyes.

“I failed him.”

The room was silent.

Then Paige spoke.

“There's someone we haven't considered.”

I looked at her.

“Who?”

“Dr. Cross.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“Not Cross.”

“Then who?”

She pointed to the server.

“The person giving him orders.”

Marcus frowned.

“Blackridge has a board.”

Paige shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

She opened another file.

There was a photograph.

A boardroom.

Seven people.

Cross was there.

My mother was there.

Marcus was there.

And at the center sat a man whose face had been blurred.

A note underneath said:

DIRECTOR

Marcus stared.

“I don't know this person.”

“You're lying,” I said.

He turned.

“I've never seen him.”

Paige zoomed in.

The blur partially disappeared.

A name appeared.

THOMAS REED

Marcus went white.

“My brother.”

I stared at him.

“You said your brother died.”

“He did.”

“When?”

“Twenty years ago.”

Paige shook her head.

“He didn't.”

Marcus sat down.

“My God.”

A video loaded.

Thomas Reed appeared.

Older.

Alive.

And smiling.

He looked directly into the camera.

“David Hayes.”

I froze.

“If you're watching this, then your memory is returning.”

He leaned closer.

“You're probably angry.”

“I would be.”

Then he smiled.

“But anger is useful.”

He explained.

Blackridge was never a medical company.

It was a private intelligence program.

Memory manipulation.

Behavior conditioning.

Asset creation.

The military had funded the early research.

Corporations had funded the expansion.

And the family members of test subjects had been used as leverage.

Then he said something that changed everything.

“Your deployment was designed to produce one final memory.”

The video showed a foreign compound.

A raid.

A room.

A man.

Me.

Standing over a case.

Thomas continued.

“You saw what was inside that case.”

I stared.

The memory struck.

A metal container.

A black drive.

A photograph.

Then a name.

PROJECT ECHO.

I gasped.

“I remember.”

Gwen stepped closer.

“What?”

“The drive.”

Marcus looked at me.

“What drive?”

I whispered:

“Project Echo.”

Thomas smiled from the screen.

“Yes.”

Then the final message appeared.

COME TO THE OLD HOSPITAL.

COME ALONE.

BRING THE WOMAN YOU LOVE.

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Below it:

OR YOUR MOTHER DIES.