ago.
A cold chill down my spine rendered me silent, unable to move.
“Ian,” was the only word that came out of Jonathan Cohen’s mouth, as his bloodshot eyes stared at me like a predator stares at its prey.
He made a quiet step toward me. And another. Then he closed the door behind him.
Remembering the last time I’d seen him, I wanted to run away. He was sick. Since Meo had implanted the memory of killing my former friend, Jim Bianchi, into his head, Jonathan had gone mad. Almost every day, he tried to end his own life and he mutilated his body. I’d even heard that he couldn’t bear to look at his own reflection in a mirror.
Since I had visited him a month ago—since he had told me about his memory transplant—I’d always thought he’d try to kill me were he ever to escape from his cell.
I consider myself a strong man, I thought. Stronger than most because of this rage that forces me to take action every time my life or my reputation is in danger. Every time I feel threatened by someone or something. But this rage is nothing compared to what Jonathan must be feeling.
Facing him right now, without anyone around, I would have given so much just to make myself invisible. I had no chance if he attacked me.
But then my brain thought of the only person I knew who could get out of any situation. Meo.
“Johnny!” I exclaimed, as if speaking to a longtime acquaintance. I even laughed to let out some of my apprehension. “How have you been, man? It’s so good to see you’re doing better…” Even though it was clear, looking at his lacerated skin and crazed eyes, that he’d succumbed to madness a long time ago.
As it turned out, I wasn’t able to fool him. Jonathan didn’t let me finish before he swiftly jumped over my desk and pinned me to the wall.
“Make it stop!” He shouted, spitting angrily on my face, his haunted eyes dilated. He gripped at my neck. I tried to escape him but he was too strong. “Make the pain go away. Make it go away!” Tears emerged from the red corners of his eyes and, for a second, I thought they were blood. “I can’t live with it anymore. You have to make it stop!”
I could have fought back. I could have punched him in the face and knocked him out. But somehow, I knew he’d kill me if I made a brisk move.
“Make what go away?” I asked with the kindest voice I’d ever used. “How can I help you, Johnny?”
I wasn’t sure if it was because his breath smelled like rotten eggs or because I was so scared I could have pissed myself, but I started to feel dizzy. Like I was about to faint.
“The pain !” he cried. “Make the pain go away! I can’t! Do you hear me? I can’t! I tried!” Still one hand around my neck, he peeled the sleeve from his left forearm with his teeth and showed me the bloody scars that marked his skin from the elbow to the wrist. “But they won’t let me! They won’t let me get rid of it!”
I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. Did he mean he wanted me to cut him? Or was it something else? My head spun as I tried to find the words that would calm him, but I couldn’t think of anything. Everything around me became a funny shade of orange… and hazy…
After a moment of shaking his arm in front of me to make me understand his needs, Jonathan gave up and punched the wall only inches from my face.
“Memory implant!” he cried. “I can tell you. I remember I can tell only you,” he repeated. “Memory implant. Make it stop! Take it away!”
A cold chill down my spine rendered me silent, unable to move.
“Ian,” was the only word that came out of Jonathan Cohen’s mouth, as his bloodshot eyes stared at me like a predator stares at its prey.
He made a quiet step toward me. And another. Then he closed the door behind him.
Remembering the last time I’d seen him, I wanted to run away. He was sick. Since Meo had implanted the memory of killing my former friend, Jim Bianchi, into his head, Jonathan had gone mad. Almost every day, he tried to end his own life and he mutilated his body. I’d even heard that he couldn’t bear to look at his own reflection in a mirror.
Since I had visited him a month ago—since he had told me about his memory transplant—I’d always thought he’d try to kill me were he ever to escape from his cell.
I consider myself a strong man, I thought. Stronger than most because of this rage that forces me to take action every time my life or my reputation is in danger. Every time I feel threatened by someone or something. But this rage is nothing compared to what Jonathan must be feeling.
Facing him right now, without anyone around, I would have given so much just to make myself invisible. I had no chance if he attacked me.
But then my brain thought of the only person I knew who could get out of any situation. Meo.
“Johnny!” I exclaimed, as if speaking to a longtime acquaintance. I even laughed to let out some of my apprehension. “How have you been, man? It’s so good to see you’re doing better…” Even though it was clear, looking at his lacerated skin and crazed eyes, that he’d succumbed to madness a long time ago.
As it turned out, I wasn’t able to fool him. Jonathan didn’t let me finish before he swiftly jumped over my desk and pinned me to the wall.
“Make it stop!” He shouted, spitting angrily on my face, his haunted eyes dilated. He gripped at my neck. I tried to escape him but he was too strong. “Make the pain go away. Make it go away!” Tears emerged from the red corners of his eyes and, for a second, I thought they were blood. “I can’t live with it anymore. You have to make it stop!”
I could have fought back. I could have punched him in the face and knocked him out. But somehow, I knew he’d kill me if I made a brisk move.
“Make what go away?” I asked with the kindest voice I’d ever used. “How can I help you, Johnny?”
I wasn’t sure if it was because his breath smelled like rotten eggs or because I was so scared I could have pissed myself, but I started to feel dizzy. Like I was about to faint.
“The pain !” he cried. “Make the pain go away! I can’t! Do you hear me? I can’t! I tried!” Still one hand around my neck, he peeled the sleeve from his left forearm with his teeth and showed me the bloody scars that marked his skin from the elbow to the wrist. “But they won’t let me! They won’t let me get rid of it!”
I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. Did he mean he wanted me to cut him? Or was it something else? My head spun as I tried to find the words that would calm him, but I couldn’t think of anything. Everything around me became a funny shade of orange… and hazy…
After a moment of shaking his arm in front of me to make me understand his needs, Jonathan gave up and punched the wall only inches from my face.
“Memory implant!” he cried. “I can tell you. I remember I can tell only you,” he repeated. “Memory implant. Make it stop! Take it away!”
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