Chapter 10: Memory Bleeds

I was still screaming when Daniel slapped the emergency switch.

The headset ripped off, a burst of light cracked across my vision, and I slammed back into my body like hitting concrete. Air tore into my lungs. My hands were shaking violently, blood still dripping from my nose. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Every part of me felt wrong — like I’d been gone longer than I had, like my body didn’t quite remember how to hold me anymore.

“Eliza,” Daniel breathed, crouched beside me, hands trembling near my shoulders but not touching. “Jesus. You were seizing. You weren’t responding. I thought—”

“I saw her,” I gasped, my voice ragged. “Marley. She was there. Cooking. Talking to me like nothing was wrong. And then the box—”

“I know. I saw the spike on the monitor. Right before the seizure started.”

“They said if I deviated again, she’d die.”

Daniel’s face darkened. “They’re trying to manipulate you. Scare you into compliance. If Marley is alive — and I think she is — she’s in the same system. Which means she’s trapped too.”

“She bled,” I whispered. “When I reached for the box… she screamed like her skin was splitting open. Her face — it twisted. Like something else was wearing her body.”

Daniel swallowed hard, then stood and paced. His apartment was a wreck — chairs overturned, the rug soaked from when I’d knocked over a glass of water mid-seizure. His laptop was dead, the screen a dull black, and the journal with the reset message was back on the floor, open to a blank page.

“They’re rewriting her,” I said quietly. “Over and over. Maybe trying to make her forget too.”

“Or worse,” Daniel muttered. “They’re using her as leverage. A pain point.”

My hands finally stopped shaking. Barely. “I need to go back in.”

He turned sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“I have to.”

“You just flatlined, Eliza.”

“But I came back. And I remembered.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re not ready.”

I stood, staggering a bit, but the movement grounded me. “You said it yourself — I’m already deviating. They’re losing control. If we wait, they’ll adapt. I need to go in before they patch the cracks.”

He stared at me for a long second. Then, finally, he sighed. “Not tonight. You need rest. You need fluids. Your neural patterns are—”

“I don’t care about my neural patterns.”

“Well I do,” he snapped. Then quieter, “Because you’re the only person I’ve ever met who’s survived this level of intervention and still managed to remember.”

The silence between us stretched.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself in there. Not completely.”

Daniel nodded. “Then let’s build a tether.”

\---

We didn’t sleep.

Instead, Daniel dug out an old recording mic, set up audio software, and coached me through making a looped reminder — my own voice, talking back to me, reminding me who I was, what was real, what I was fighting for.

“My name is Eliza Quinn,” I said into the mic, “and Marley is real. You are not dreaming. You are not hallucinating. You are inside their simulation. They are rewriting your reality. Stay sharp. Stay human. Find her.”

Daniel added an auditory anchor — a tone only my brain would respond to, based on the neural patterns he’d recorded during my seizure. It sounded like wind chimes trapped underwater, eerie but comforting.

“This will play every five minutes inside the loop,” he explained. “If they let it through.”

“If they don’t?”

“You’ll remember anyway. I think.”

“You think?”

“You’ve already done the impossible twice. That’s not luck.”

\---

The second entry was worse.

Not the pain — that was dulled now, like my body had grown accustomed to the jump. But the disorientation was deeper. The glitching less obvious. They’d started smoothing over the cracks.

This time, I woke in the park.

It was warm. Breezy. A book lay open in my lap. Marley was next to me on a checkered blanket, sipping an iced coffee and talking about someone she hated from work. A bee buzzed lazily between us.

But I wasn’t listening.

I was watching her face.

Every microexpression. Every blink.

Was it her?

Was it really Marley?

Or just the mask again?

“...Eliza?” she said.

“Sorry,” I blinked. “Zoned out.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Then came the whisper.

Not Marley. Not me.

In my ear.

My voice.

“My name is Eliza Quinn. Marley is real. You are not dreaming...”

I jolted. The tone worked. The anchor held.

I looked at her again. “Hey… do you remember the day we met?”

Marley raised an eyebrow. “At the campus protest. You were holding a sign that said ‘Down With Everything.’”

I laughed. That was right.

“And what did you say to me?”

“I said, ‘I like your sign. It’s stupid, but it’s honest.’”

God. My heart cracked open.

“Why are you being weird?” she asked.

“I just… missed you.”

Marley reached for my hand. It was warm. Solid. Real.

“Eliza,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

I hesitated. “I think we’re trapped.”

She blinked. “In the park?”

“No. In a loop. A simulation. They’re resetting us. Changing our memories. You vanished. Everyone said you never existed. But you’re here.”

Marley stared at me. Then smiled. “That’s the plot of that show you made me watch. With the robot cowboys.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I stood up. “Come with me. I can prove it.”

“Eliza—”

“Please.”

Something in my face must’ve convinced her, because she stood. We walked across the grass. Past a couple walking a dog. Past a man feeding ducks. Everything perfect. Too perfect.

I led her toward the trees. Toward the edges of the park where the loop would strain, where the data might break.

The sun flickered.

Marley stopped. “Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“I feel… weird.”

“Just hold on. A few more steps.”

We reached the treeline.

And the world behind us stopped moving.

Literally.

The man with the ducks froze mid-toss. The wind paused. Even the bee hung in the air like a paused video.

Marley gasped. “What the hell.”

“You’re seeing it,” I said. “You’re remembering.”

She turned to me slowly. “Eliza… I’ve had dreams. Dreams where I’m screaming but no one hears. Where everything is white. Bright. Too bright. And there’s a voice telling me to forget.”

A sharp ringing cut through the air. Loud. Violent.

“No,” I whispered. “No no no—”

Marley clutched her head. “It hurts—”

Then her eyes rolled back.

She collapsed.

I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbing her shoulders. “Marley! Wake up! Stay with me!”

She twitched violently. Like the simulation was electrocuting her.

And then—

She vanished.

Gone.

No blood. No sound. No trace.

The blanket was still there. The book. Her coffee.

But she was gone.

I fell backward, choking on air. My body felt wrong again. Cold. Hollow.

The recording in my ear skipped.

“...you are not dreaming. You are not—” static “...not real...”

And then:

“Loop terminated. Subject deviation detected.”

The world warped.

And I was back.

\---

Daniel caught me before I hit the floor.

“Eliza! Talk to me!”

I clung to his shirt, sobbing. “They took her. I had her. I saw her. She remembered. She knew—”

“They’re escalating,” he whispered. “They know you’re getting close.”

“She’s in there. She’s fighting. But they’re hurting her.”

He looked down at me. “Then we go deeper. We find the system. We find whoever’s doing this. And we end it.”

“No more loops,” I said.

He nodded.

“No more forgetting.”