Is Life Better If We Never Met

Meagan sat with her arms limply at her side. Her head rested, cocked against her shoulder, and her eyes were glossy and unblinking. When she was like this, trapped between her two personalities, all humanity was gone. She couldn't feel or react, and when she spoke she could tell the monotonous truth, but couldn't add any comment of her own.

Even as leaden footsteps echoed off the concrete floor, she didn't react. Her eyes kept unfocused; the muscles in her face never twitched. A heavy boot landed next to her. The man carried a bucket of soapy water in one hand and a dry sponge in the other. He heaved while he walked, his footsteps off-kilter, and he placed the bucket against her calve.

The hair on Meagan's leg bristled, but the action was involuntary and the leg didn't move. The man dropped to one knee, and dipped the sponge into the bucket. He pressed it between his hands and watched as the soap ran over his fingers. He gave it one last dip, then rolled it over and pressed it to Meagan's sweaty stomach.

The water was cold enough to give her gooseflesh. The man didn't stop to wait for comfort, he went straight to work, scrubbing at her naval.

The scent was faint, but enough that she might notice, so she had to be washed. It was sweat, mostly, but the slight fruity smell of dried cum came in occasional whiffs.

The sponge went lower. It wrapped around her hips and tucked between her bare thighs, before the man used his fingernails to separate the pubic hair that had knotted together with dried semen.

"So," the man's gruff voice came, "Tell me about your night."

Meagan's head never shifted. Her eyes never blinked, but her mouth came to life, almost like a robot. "I started out at a club," she said softly.

"Very good," the man said. He gave her pelvis one last wipe before spreading her labia with his forefingers. He gave the sponge another dip, then pinched the corner small enough to squeeze between her legs.

"I was alone when I went," Meagan answered. Her voice was as passionless as before, almost bored, "I wanted to dance. I wanted to get drunk."

The man rose from his knees and spun a quick circle around her. He dabbed occasionally at her back, brushing away a scrap of evidence. He stopped to pick at a small spot of crusted skin, and the woman continued, "I started dancing with a guy named Tom. He bought me a couple drinks, and I asked him if he had any friends with him."

The man grabbed the bucket again, and finished his circle. He stopped when the two were eye to eye, and returned to his knee. His grubby hand reached out, and brushed at the strand of hair that had hardened to her forehead.

"He said he did," Meagan continued, "I asked him to bring them over. We could all dance together."

The sponge went back in the bucket, then pressed against her forehead. The salt had hardened into a white sheen, but the soapy bubbles sent it waterfalling down her face.

"How'd you get them home?"

"I was honest with them," she said, "I told them what I wanted. I said I wanted all of them."

The soapy water had pooled in the corner of her unblinking eyes. A gentle sponge soaked it away, and the water ran down her chest.

"Was everyone drunk?"

"Yes," she said. The man looked down and saw her nipples had started to harden.

"So who drove?"

"We took a taxi," Meagan said, "I don't remember who called it, but there were three of us in the backseat. I kissed Tom the most. He kept touching my chest, and Mitchell behind me kept reaching around my waist. Nothing serious happened in the cab though. It was mostly just making out."

The man circled Meagan again. He walked slowly, and stared at her as unblinkingly as she was. He looked for anything, the tiniest sign that might remind her what she'd forgotten about.

"I barely remember going inside," Meagan said, "I remember three sets of hands nervously undressing me. I remember seeing the way Tom's fingers were trembling as he tried to get his own belt unclasped. And I remember being thrown down on the bed."

The man traded his sponge for a towel. He started at her hair, squeezing and twisting it dry.

"Tom was in me first. He shuffled his feet to the foot of the bed, and tapped his cock against my pubic bone. I turned to my left, and started sucking Mitchell's penis, and reached back to grab Henry."

The towel brushed against her face. Her voice went muffled, but the words never stopped. "I liked Henry the most," she said, "He had a 'v' shape over his pelvic bone, and he's the only one that actually trimmed. I told him to go in my ass."

The towel dropped down to her shoulder blades. The man pressed his fingers against them, running up and down the groove, before he wrapped it around her chest and started cupping her breast.

"All four of us were laughing as they tried to figure it out. Eventually they got into an alternating rhythm, Tom in, Henry out, and I kept on sucking Mitchell."

When Meagan finished a sentence, her jaw locked and her chin fell slack. She never turned or watched the man as he scrubbed her down.

"Mitchell was the first to cum," she said, "I could feel him start to pulsate, so I pulled him out and started to jerk. He's the one that came on my face. Tom was second. He came on my bush, then I told Henry to stick it in my pussy."

The man felt himself start to stiffen, but wouldn't let himself stop until the work was done. He started drying her thighs, pulling the towel back and forth like he was trying to start a fire.

"I didn't ever want Henry to stop," Meagan said, "I felt my eyes roll back. My legs were quivering, and I kept breathing in these short sporadic bursts. I wanted him to come inside me. I told him to when he said he was close, but he pulled out too, and came on my stomach.

The man gently lifted her feet and scrubbed the soles dry before running the towel between each individual toe. He stood and twisted his back before grabbing Meagan's pajamas from the corner of the room.

"I ate some of it," Meagan said, "I swirled it all together with my finger, and licked it like frosting.

Meagan didn't protest as her arms were raised. The man lowered the shirt down slowly, then turned to grab her bottoms. "So tell me," he finally said. It was the only time his voice trembled, "Are you glad you went out?"

"Of course."

"And you want to do it again?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Good," He said. He finished pulling the fleece pajamas to her waist and helped her to her unsteady feet, "And what do you do now?"

"Go straight home," Meagan said, "Go right to bed. Lie with my husband. Don't deviate at all, make sure there's no hiccups, and that I don't remember any of this."

"Good," the man repeated. He limped over to the control panel, and watched as the hatch to the small concrete room started to open.

"Meagan," he called, watching her walk away. She stopped for only a moment, and he added, "Good night."

The man stood motionless until the hatch creaked shut and he was alone. He seized the first chance he got and ran straight to the bucket. He yanked the sponge and pressed it to his face. He inhaled as deeply as he could, savoring the whisps of smells before they were gone, and when he ran his fingers down to his pants, they trembled more than Tom's had. The man worked his pants down to his ankles, but was too focused to kick them aside. His hand started working furiously, and his breathing quickened, smell after smell of the sponge.

This excerpt was originally published in the December 18th issue of the Tower Park Gazette.

Our understanding of the human brain is so much more advanced than anybody realizes,

an anonymous informant claims,

Some of the Top Secret projects being done, are straight out of science fiction, and they're horrifying. Memories can be excised, completely removed from someone's brain, and likewise, completely fabricated memories can be added. We're at a point where our government can edit anybody's brain as easily as you or I can edit a computer file. You can wake up one day with a totally different identity. They could make a problem go away by literally making that person go insane, but the reason I knew that I needed to blow the whistle on all this is because testing has gone so far that it's being performed on ordinary American citizens.

The Tower Park Gazette informant attached supporting evidence alongside their claims. However, under the advisement of our lawyers, we have refrained from publishing these documents in an effort to maintain our informant's anonymity.

Our scientists realized,

the informant continued,

That they could make the perfect intelligence agent. When you're on mission, they remove all memory of your previous life. You couldn't reveal information if you wanted to, because you literally don't know it. And when you're off mission, if enemies find an agent hanging around with their family or something, that agent can never give up their country or reveal mission details. They would be a perfect operative. Simply by controlling memories, our government has essentially figured out how to cram two different people into a single body, but reader, every single person who's reading this; I implore you, think about how horrifying this is. You, me, the writer at the gazette, literally anybody could be a government agent, and they'd never know. They could go to bed one day, expecting to see their kids smile in the morning, only to be killed on mission. Our secret agents don't know they're secret agents when they're going through their day to day life. This is already being done. You might be a government agent.

Aaron woke with a groaning stretch. His eyes stayed sealed while his back arched out towards the morning light, and when he looked across the bed, he saw his wife Meagan, already awake and staring at him. He blinked in the morning light, and she started to smile. Aaron loved the way she smiled. All the features in her cheeks fell into alignment, crawling up and scrunching her nose together. He could always see a hint of her upper teeth and a sliver of her pale tongue. Then he saw her eye.

"Meagan?" he asked. His voice was still a whisper, but concern was there, "What happened to your eye? Does it feel ok?"

He scooted up the mattress, bringing his face almost to hers, and looked at the way her eye had reddened. If she looked into a mirror, she surely would have noticed.

"Oh, I don't know," she said softly. She brought her fingers to a dainty curl, and tapped it against her eyelids, "I guess it hurts a little bit."

"Come here," Aaron said warmly. He reached between her underarms, and brought her into a hug. He ran his hands up her spine and rested against the back of her head, cradling her bun like it were made of gold.

"I tell you what," Aaron said, "I'll let you take a look at it, and get ready, I'll get breakfast going ok?"

Aaron started to pull away, but Meagan's greedy hands brought him back. He gave a small laugh and met her eyes again. "Someone woke up on the right side of the bed today."

"I don't know," she said, "It's just, I feel good today, you know?"

Aaron let her pull him closer, and the two embraced. He was bare-chested, and she braless, and through the thin fabric they could feel every curve of each other's body. Her hand gave gentle strokes up and down his back, while he returned the favor.

"So what are you thinking?" he asked, "Eggs and toast? Waffles?"

Her eyes closed and she stretched with a smile, "Surprise me."

Aaron gave her back one last pat, then gently laid the blanket over her form. He slipped from the bed and onto the carpet. He teetered down the hall and down the stairs. He only paused for a moment when he reached the kitchen. The panel over the oven's controls was laying on it's side, exposing all the extra wiring underneath it. He approached it slowly, and hoisted it back into place, just like he'd done a thousand times before, and gave a quick glance over his shoulder.

The fridge stayed open for nearly a minute while Aaron peered inside, looking for inspiration. He grabbed a carton of baby spinach and a half dozen eggs, settling on omelets. He set them gently on the counter, and stuck his head back in the fridge, searching for cheese and bell peppers. Then he heard a sound that made his head jerk up.

The noise was distant at first, a popping sound like when a plastic toy breaks. The sound came again, once, then twice, then the crash. Aaron spilled to his knees, and turned to see the broken window. Glass had scattered across the kitchen floor, and somewhere overhead Meagan screamed.

Aaron struggled to his feet. He felt the glass pierce his skin, while he slipped in the blood. The distant popping sound rang again, then he saw the canister. It landed across form the island, taking out a chunk of granite, but spewing a green haze. He barely had enough time to think the word, shit, his eyelids already feeling heavy.

His hands ran to his chest, as he tried to make a makeshift mask, but found only bare skin. He sealed his lips, careful not to breathe, and his eyes started to water and redden. He turned frantically, and found a draped towel. He wrapped it around his face, and tied a quick bow, just enough to let him breathe again.

The plastic popping sound became shouts, followed by thundering footsteps. Aaron took a cursory glance through the broken window and saw a half dozen men with weapons raised. He fell to a squat, and looked back to the oven. He fought the temptation, even questioning it for a moment, but once he heard pounding against the backdoor, he'd run out of options. He ripped the panel back off and heard the way it skittered. He dug his fingers through the wiring, until he found the emergency button. He paused for only a moment, but the crash came again, and this time he heard the wood start to splinter. Aaron pressed the button.

It was a button he'd never pressed before. He expected something mystical, maybe even just a smell, a change in the air. The only thing that changed was Meagan's horrified screams. They went silent.

The back door gave way with one final strike. Boots met the vinyl floor, and Aaron scampered through glass to get behind a wall. The men were shouting at him, but there were too many and he couldn't make out any single word. The footsteps started to spread throughout the house. Each man kept their weapon raised, and one footstep came tapping just beyond the wall where Aaron hid.

For a moment there was silence, nothing but the deep, nervous breathing and the hammering footsteps that marched around the house; then came a shatter.

Three of the men turned, spraying wildly. "Wait," one yelled, the tallest of the six, "It's her. Hold your fire."

The men crept closer, and found what made the noise. A vase had shattered, the remains mixed with dirt and a wilted plant. The men started to funnel together. They walked in a slow, steady unison. They nearly made it to a corner, when Meagan struck. She jumped behind the lead man, grabbed his rifle by the muzzle, then pulled it taut against his neck. She placed herself behind him, using him as a shield while his fingers struggled against the gun. The others crept closer, their weapons drawn, but their fingers off the trigger.

"Come with us, one yelled, and no one has to get hurt."

The footsteps kept creeping closer. One man started reaching out, ready to grab the rifle away from her, and Meagan seized her chance. She brought the stock back, slamming it against the man's head, then spun it towards the group. She hit another, and tucked herself into a roll.

She'd read the situation. She knew they wouldn't shoot her, and she knew she could take them. She slammed the butt of the gun against one's chest, and whipped it back between the other two. She dove behind the group and crashed the last two's heads together, leaving only a crumpled pile of unconscious soldiers.

Aaron stood painfully. His heart was still racing a few hundred beats per minute, but the shock had started to wear off, and the searing pain of the was starting to radiate up his shins. "Meagan," he called, his voice withered, "It's me."

She turned and raised the weapon. Her eyebrows narrowed and she stared through Aaron's soul. "Meagan," he said, his lip wavering, "You saved us."

Meagan had his wife's face, but there was no recognition. Her eyes belonged to someone else. She lowered the gun, but only because she didn't see him as a threat.

"Meagan!" he called again, but she'd turned her back on him. Her pace was slow at first, almost unsure where to go, but by the time she reached the front door she was sprinting.

An excerpt from the testimony of Aaron Drake.

I think everything can be traced back to June 17th. I was expecting to work late. As all in the jury are aware, personal phones aren't allowed in secure facilities. In other words, I was bored. All we were doing was waiting around for another team to finish fixing a bug so we could start testing. The waiting became an hour, two, then three, until finally our supervisor, that's Deborah Hotchkins for the court, told us the other team had been given an extension. That meant for the next week, we had absolutely nothing to do, so they told us we could just go home. I would have called Meagan and let her know I was coming home early, but I forgot to take my phone out of the locker, and by the time I realized, I was already half way home. Once I got home, I saw that Meagan wasn't alone. She had a friend over. I always try to be respectful. I know she wants her girl time, and I'd just be in the way. I entered as quietly as I could. I made my dinner almost silently. I know they didn't hear me, because well, they kept talking. There's no delicate way to put this, but Meagan's friend was promiscuous, and she liked to tell Meagan all about her lifestyle. It was a way for Meagan to live vicariously, remind her a little bit of what she used to be like, but here's the part I wasn't ever supposed to hear: After she finished telling some story of a hookup, she asked Meagan if she ever missed living that way, if she ever regretted settling down. Now I know she'd never say it in a million years if she knew I could hear her, but her answer was simple. She said yeah. She was quick to say she loves me, but she reiterated that its hard. She has urges, and she wishes she could still sleep with other people. She missed going out to parties, and just living a wild and crazy lifestyle. I knew Meagan was satisfied with the life we had, but before that day, I never actually knew that she was missing something, that she could be a hell of a lot happier.

Aaron's feet made a bloody squish as he ran out into the snow. "Meagan!" he screamed again. His head spun in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but she was too far gone, lost to the blizzard.

For a moment Aaron thought about running. He imagined stuffing his car with everything he was carrying and trying to outrun the law, but the law already knew his face. They knew he'd be trying to track Meagan, and when he imagined life without her, living in squalor and abandoned houses, he couldn't picture a life worth living.

He turned back to his house, a bloody footrail in his wake. He opened the door with a creak, and looked at the soldiers as they were just beginning to stir.

Aaron held his hands high above his head. "I surrender," he said. There was no use in arguing anything else, they already had the evidence, "I'm turning myself in."

An excerpt from the testimony of Aaron Drake.

Before I continue, I'm legally obligated to ensure all in attendance have signed the NDA, and furthermore, all understand that violation of this agreement is considered treason. Ok? Good. I worked on Project Synapse. It was widely reported on earlier this year, originally in the Tower Park Gazette. The story was true. Despite all the denials and constant dismissals, the United States Government can in fact, edit people's minds as easily as a computer file, to quote the article. I stole the equipment to do that. I worked on the project myself, and I knew how to work said equipment. I thought I could give Meagan the perfect life. When she's with me, she's one hundred percent guilt free. She has absolutely no memory of what she's out there doing. But when she's out there, she doesn't remember me, or that she's married. She's still herself, basically who she was before we started dating, and she gets to do whatever the hell she wants. Then when I bring her back, I leave the satisfaction. It was always her decision to go out, and when she was with me, I watched her happiness grow every single day. I'll admit, a part of it was for me, the excitement of knowing what I was getting away with, and knowing what she was out there doing. I'm here before you all today, because the situation isn't resolved. She's still out there. She's likely going by a different name, probably changed her appearance, but I forgot that this whole project was for military purposes. When I changed her memories, I also gave her the default agent package. She knew how to fight, how to be a secret agent, but know this. Meagan, my wife, is 100% innocent, and she's still in there. She doesn't deserve to be hunted down, she deserves happiness. Please consider all avenues.