RETCON

It was a hot summer night in Los Angeles. The wind blew hot from street to street and made itself known by its unmistakable sound. I sat at a table inside a dark and shady bar in the poor district of the city, drinking a terrible draft beer and watching the small television the owner had set on the wall. Sitting beside me was Mila, my childhood friend. Mila had dark hair that shone purple in the light and cold blue eyes that always felt like they were staring directly into me. She had a small, beautiful figure that she displayed very prominently with her tight skirt and her tank top. She was hunched over the table as she drank her beer in silence. Her eyes were sad and she didn’t talk much. I touched her hand and she jumped in her seat and gave me a scared look, but smiled faintly when she saw me and put her hand over mine. The television was running a show about P.R.S., or Past Reassignment Surgery. The man on the show talked about how the surgery, if done too much, could cause irreparable damage to the patient. I nudged Mila on the shoulder and pointed to the television, but she just shrugged and carried on drinking.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, love?” I asked and stroked the back of her hand. “Don’t call me ‘love’, John,” Mila replied, “I love you like a brother, but not like that. Got it?” I sighed. “I understand. I still think you’re going to love me one day, though, but then it might be too late,” I said. “I’ll take that risk,” she said and let out a small laugh. “But still,” I continued, “I still think you should rethink the whole situation. Doing something like that just seems rash to me.” She looked at me sadly and removed her hand from my caressing. “I need to do this, John. For me,” she said. I sighed and gave up trying to change her mind.

We drank a couple more beers and then went each our separate ways. I started walking home in a slow pace so as not to waste that beautiful starry night in Los Angeles. It was warm and I could feel my forehead sweating quite badly. I wiped with clean with my arm and carried on walking home. I arrived at a street junction and felt a cold wind blowing from the sea and felt a great relief. I sighed in my relief and arrived home. I checked my watch, it wasn’t too late after I said goodbye to Mila. I got inside and threw my things on the desk. My apartment wasn’t big; in fact it was pretty small. It had no bedroom, instead having a foldable bed in the wall, and it had no separate kitchen; it was adjacent to the living room with only a counter separating it from the living room proper. There was a small couch in the middle of the living room, facing the wall opposite the kitchen and a medium-sized television in front of it with a coffee table in between. To the left of the couch there was a big empty space with two bedside tables by the closets, that’s where my foldable bed was. To the right of the bed there was the bathroom, which was small and only had a small square shower and not a bathtub. I threw myself onto the couch and grabbed the photo album I kept on the coffee table. I started flipping through all the photos absent-mindedly, looking at all the pictures of Mila and me.

Mila was about five years younger than me. I had met her since she was one years old, but as soon as she became a teenager, she had become the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I had been in love with her since I turned twenty years old. I was sure she would, one day, be my wife. If only she ever thought the same… I sighed and put the album away and turned the television on. I started watching some kind of silly comedy show as I slowly fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of my dear Mila.

Mila looked nervous sitting on her chair. She looked from television to television in a desperate bid to find something that was familiar to her, but the only thing that was familiar in that room was me. The room was circular and tall, with television screens covering every inch of wall. The surgery operator arrived in the room and started preparing the materials needed for the surgery after he bid us ‘good day’. I held Mila’s cold shaking hand and she squeezed mine as her fear grew. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked her. She held my hand tighter and sighed heavily. “Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for being here for me, John,” she said. “If you need me, I’d appear anywhere you needed me, dear,” I replied and smiled to her. She looked a bit more calm and then let go of my hand. “I’m ready,” she said in a commanding tone and then waved to the operator.

The operator turned on the machine and Mila slowly fell asleep on the operating chair. I went up to the operating area and looked over the surgeon’s shoulder as he started the procedure to delete Mila’s unpleasant and scarring memories and created new, more pleasant memories. I watched them all being jumbled in the televisions around us. They were mixed, deleted where needed, invented where necessary and filled in where there was material that could be re-used. The operator was as much an artist as he was a doctor, and his work was admirable. I saw Mila’s point of view when I asked her out on a date. She told me no, and then I saw her heart race as I grabbed her arm and hugged her against the wall. I walked up to the operator and asked, “Can you delete that memory over there?” He looked at it and grinned. “Sure,” he said and deleted it instantaneously. “Thank you,” I said and smiled awkwardly. “You’re her husband, then?” he asked. “No!” I said laughing, “I mean, I wish I was, but she won’t, uh…” I stopped talking. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised, and then I completed my sentence, “Uh… she won’t take me. We’re just friends.” He stroked his brow and looked at me as if I was stupid. “You want to be her husband? I can make that happen,” he said. I looked at him with disgust. “You mean make her believe she is married to me? That sounds sick!” I said. “Suit yourself,” he said, “but it’s a pretty wild world out there. She doesn’t have someone to protect her, to show her the way of things… She could really benefit from having someone who lives with her and protects her from all the problems Fixeds face in society.” I sighed in frustration and put my hands in my pockets. “Fine. Do it,” I said. “Five thousand dollars,” he said and smiled more. “I don’t have any money on me,” I said with a sigh of resignation. “Then you can pay me after the surgery. I have your cell phone number on file, I can call you later. We got a deal?” he said and offered his hand. “We have a deal,” I said and shook his hand.

The surgeon started making movements on the control board in rapid succession, deleting various memories and altering others to his liking. When all was said and done, we had spent five hours in the surgery, and we were exhausted. The surgeon turned the machine off and called me to help him carry her and we took her to her car, which I started and then drove her home. He said she would probably wake up in about five hours, more or less. I stopped at her house and laid her on her bed and then drove home in a hurry and grabbed all the clothes I could carry along with my tools of work and carried them to her home, which was bigger than mine by about three times. I then laid myself by her side and hugged her as I waited for her to wake up. After about two hours, she slowly woke up from her sleep and, as she saw me, she smiled and hugged me back.

“Good morning, dear,” I said. “Good morning,” she replied and buried herself in my chest. “Did you sleep well?” I asked. “I had a weird dream about you and some other person I never met,” she said, “but other than that I slept fine.” She hugged me tighter and I started stroking her hair. “I’m glad to know that,” I smiled and we got up from the bed. She left the room first, walking from place to place in absent-mindedness and then turned to me and smiled. The whole situation felt false to me, as if it was an imitation of my dreams, but not a full realization. I felt as if I could wake up at any moment and realize it was all a dream. Except it wasn’t. It was a created reality, created by myself and an unscrupulous surgeon from Los Angeles. I felt bad in my stomach and sat down on the couch to see if it would go away. Mila sat beside me and stroked my shoulders. “Are you okay?” she asked with a worried look on her face. “I’m fine,” I replied and stroked her hand. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good,” she insisted. I waved her concerns away and assured her I was fine. She went back to doing whatever she was doing and, before I knew it, she was sitting on my lap with a cup of coffee in her hands. She gave me the cup and I took a sip and then she kissed me, and I felt like I was in heaven. Suddenly, she threw herself on the couch and started coughing and making vomiting noises while gesturing in pain. “What’s wrong?” I asked desperately. “I’m fine,” she said, “I’m fine… It was just… I don’t know. I felt sick.” I stroked her hair and she forced herself to smile for me. I kissed her again and she threw up on the couch. “You are not fine!” I insisted. “I’m just… a bit sick, love. Maybe if I take the day off I’ll feel better, right?” she suggested. “Right,” I replied and carried her to her bed. She spread herself on the mattress while forcing herself to smile for me and slowly fell asleep again as I watched her. As soon as she started sleeping, the doorbell rang and she woke up again. “I’ll see who it is,” I said to her, “you just rest here, ok?”

I walked to the living room and opened the door and saw a policeman standing in front of the house. “Hello, are you at all related to Mika Bratovich?” he asked. “I think you mean Mila?” I offered. “Oh, right, sorry. Are you related to her, then?” he asked again. “I’m the Trusted in charge of taking care of her after her P.R.S.” I told him. “Good. I would like to see her, please,” he demanded. “Are you a friend of hers?” I asked nervously. “No, not at all. It is police procedure to check up on all of the Fixeds after their first month or so of rehabilitation,” he explained. “I thought that was only for reassigned criminals?” I said. “It is, but we started doing it for willing reassignments to make sure people aren’t taking advantage of the Fixeds. They may be wrong in the head, but they’re still people, right?” he joked, but I didn’t laugh. “Well, come in then,” I said and stood aside so he could enter.

He entered the apartment and judged everything about it. He didn’t like the carpet, didn’t like the view and didn’t like the furniture and the decorations. He mumbled under his breath about Fixeds and Born-Rights — people that didn’t have a P.R.S. — and walked up to the bedroom where Mila was. He examined her up and down as she was clearly pretending to be asleep — badly. He poked her on the head and she pretended to wake up and smiled to him. “Good morning,” she said. “Good morning, dear,” the officer spoke in a condescending tone, “how are you feeling?” She looked him with fear and then looked at me. I shrugged and she turned back to him. “I’m okay, I guess,” she said.

The officer spent about half an hour interrogating Mila. When he was satisfied with all the answers he had received, he got up from the bed where he was sitting and gave me a stern look and got out of the bedroom to look at the living room once again. I escorted him all throughout, fearing he might want to investigate further. When he was finally happy with all that he had received from us, he left us in peace and went his own way. I went back to the bedroom to check on Mila. She was lying on the mattress with her eyes open. She smiled to me as I arrived and sat up on the bed to greet me. “Why was that police officer here, honey?” She asked. “Why should he think things aren’t in order?” she wondered.

“How should I know, I don’t track the police down”, I am sure I replied flippantly. She looked at me with some anger from my response, but she didn’t say anything. She tried to get up from the bed, but I stopped her as soon as I saw her trying. “Honey, let me get up.” She asked, “I need to do something, or else I’ll go insane!” I sighed. “Well, just don’t push yourself too hard, love. I don’t want you to have to go to the hospital because you worked too hard,” I said.

She got up from the bed and walked to the living room. She walked with a sway that always left me hypnotized, but this time all I felt was disgust with myself. She started cleaning the house and I started helping her, not wanting to feel even worse. We cleaned the house as best as we could considering neither of us really knew what we were doing, and we threw ourselves on the couch when we were done. Mila laid her head on my lap and started closing her eyes when my phone rang. I picked it from my pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” I asked to the sound of low music and cars. “Hi, John. It’s me. The surgeon,” he said in a low voice that was barely audible over the sound of the cars. “Oh, hi. I suppose this is about…” I looked at Mila, who was smiling at me. “Yeah, this is about the cash. Listen, come over to my apartment and we’ll talk about it, ok?” he suggested. “Sure,” I said, “I’ll come right over.” I got the address and went, making up an excuse to Mila.

I arrived at a nice building in the wealthy district of Los Angeles about half an hour later. I parked the car in the garage and got into the lobby. I got up the elevator and arrived at apartment 302. I pressed the doorbell and waited as the doctor finished his personal affairs to receive me. A few minutes later the door opened to a man wearing a bathrobe and nothing else except a cowboy hat. That was the surgeon. He invited me in and I went inside his home with some hesitance. I felt uncomfortable in that apartment, as there was a terrible feeling brewing in my stomach from being there. The surgeon walked to the kitchen and grabbed two beers and gave me one and I drank it as fast as I could to chase away the bad feelings that kept growing inside of me.

“So, you got my money?” he asked and made a gesture that meant cash. I took my checkbook and wrote him a check for six thousand dollars. “Six thousand, so you’ve never seen me, understand?” I asked. He grabbed the check and gave it a look-over and, with a smile, shook my hand and said, “I don’t even know where you’re from, buddy.” I sighed in relief and gestured for another beer. He gave me another beer and we drank. Before I left, I saw a naked woman with curly red hair coming out of the surgeon’s bedroom. She walked up to the fridge and got a plate of leftovers and started licking them in full view of me. The surgeon looked where I was looking and smiled. “That one used to be a model when she came to me and asked for P.R.S. on the cheap. I made her think I’m her God and that she literally lives to serve me,” he laughed. I felt the need to punch him, but I restrained myself. He could have me arrested in a second.

There was a loud bang on the door. The surgeon walked up to it and looked through the spyglass and cursed under his breath. He ordered the woman to hide and said, “It’s the police!” in the lowest voice he could manage. I could feel my hands turn to ice as my nervousness only increased. I ran to the surgeon’s bedroom through sheer instinct, looking for a place to hide. There was none, but I could see out the window that there were no police cars outside of it. I opened it up and climbed out, feeling a terrible pain in my joints as I did so. I hanged by my fingers out the window, trying desperately not to fall or slip. I looked around and saw a water pipe to drain the roof by my side. I grabbed it and slowly climbed it down in my attempt to scape. I slipped and almost fell as I went down, but I managed to hold on. I finally climbed to the ground and sneaked my way to the garage and got in my car. I wondered if they had arrested the surgeon. By God, I hoped they did. But if so that means that it’s likely he will tell them about me. I rushed home and expected the worst.

I arrived at Mila´s home and saw no police cars any sort. I sighed in relief and parked in front of the building. I got inside and saw Mila lying on the couch. I walked over to her and kissed her forehead. She slowly woke up from her nap and kissed me, but then felt sick and almost threw up. I made her sit down on the couch, but she insisted she was fine. I didn’t know what was going on, but it was probably the fault of that damn surgeon, I was sure of it. She then hugged me and I her and we spent some time in that loving embrace. I wanted to confess to her the whole truth, but I held it deep within me. I didn’t want to lose her forever.
I suddenly heard sirens, and knew they were coming for me. I grabbed Mila’s shoulders and hurried with her to the front door but stopped before I opened it. They were going to blockade the front door first of all. I ran with Mila to the bedroom and we once again got out the window, but this time there was no water pipe. I hanged by my fingers out the window and I could feel them slowly slipping. Mila was in the bedroom shouting at me for my apparent run into insanity, but I was too busy trying not to fall to listen to her. And then, my finger slipped. And then the other. And then, finally, I fell.

I fell for what seemed like an eternity and landed standing up on the ground and I could feel my right leg shatter on itself. I fell on the floor and rested there trying my best to not scream. Mila saw the whole thing and ran out of the house and, somehow avoiding the police, came running towards me. She examined my leg and gave me a very desperate look. “I’m fine,” I assured her. She helped me get up and I told her to take us to the car. She got in the driver’s seat and I in the passenger’s seat and then I told her to drive away. I saw policemen stopping at the house probably to make my arrest, but by then I was already gone. Mila drove away being nervous but still managing to be helpful.

“Are you okay?” she asked when we stopped a ways down the road. “I’m fine,” I reassured her and stroked my broken leg. She put her hand over it and felt it up and down and frowned at me. “It’s broken, love. We need to take you to the hospital,” she said. “You don’t have to, and we don’t have the time to do it. Just keep driving,” I said. She frowned at me but her frown soon turned on anger. “No! I’m not going to let you be hurt and do nothing about it just because you don’t want to go to the hospital! I’m taking you there,” she said and started the engine again. I started hearing sirens. “Love,” I said, “drive away. Those cops are after us, they can´t find us, just drive away and hide, we’ll talk about it later!” I yelled. Mila started driving and looked at me with anger in her eyes. “Why are you being chased by cops? What did you do, John?” she asked. “I did something wrong, Mila. Something very wrong,” I said and felt the pain in my leg get stronger as Mila swerved the road. “What did you do? Whatever it was, I can forgive you, love! Just tell me,” she insisted. I sighed. “When you were having a P.R.S., I paid the doctor six thousand dollars to make you think you always loved me,” I confessed. Mila stopped the car and nearly made me fly out the windshield. “You what!” she yelled. “I’m sorry, I just… I love you so much, and you never loved me back” Can you ever forgive me?” I asked and felt tears building in my eyes. Mila looked astonished. She stared at her hands and then at me and finally at the car. In a low tone, she started speaking. “I want to,” she said and tears started coming out of her eyes, “but I don’t know if that’s because I really want to or because you made me want to when you were altering my brain, you sick bastard!” She started slapping me and punching me and I didn’t resist her attacks. When she was done beating me, she threw herself on the window and started crying. I sighed. “I understand,” I said, “but can you please drive? If you don’t drive, they’re going to arrest me for what I did.” She turned off the car. “No. You’re going to be arrested for that horrible thing, John. I love you, but I need time to find out if that’s because of me or because of you, and during that time, I don’t want to see you,” she said and cleaned the tears off of her eyes. I stroked her hair, but she pushed my hand away.

The police arrived at the car and a police officer knocked at my window. I opened the door and lifted my arms and he arrested me and I finally felt my leg stop hurting as I lost consciousness. I awoke about not too much time later to find myself handcuffed and lying in a hospital bed. I guess that was going to be where I would be spending a few days while my leg healed.

I stood before the judge feeling as awful as I could ever feel. Mila was beside me as she was also arrested for helping me and I wanted to hold her hand, but I was handcuffed and could not even touch her. They jury had declared me guilty of corrupting a P.R.S. with malicious intent, and had thankfully declared Mila innocent of helping a wanted criminal, considering her circumstances. The judge looked at both of us with sadness growing in his eyes. Finally, he decided something. “John, for what you did, you deserve the worst punishment in the world,” he said, “but I think you already have felt the guilt of what you did. Considering your case, I’m going to sentence you and Mila to another P.R.S., you so you can become a member of society again and Mila so she can put your horrible misdoings in her past and then delete that past.” He banged the hammer and the police took us away in different paths. I looked over my shoulder to see if Mila was okay, and I could see her looking sadly at me.

“Welcome back,” said the new surgeon operator to me, “this time we’re going to make sure you have a new untainted past.” She smiled and stroked my hair. I was strapped to the operating chair and could not move, but I didn’t want to. I just wanted to begin anew, to be forgiven or forgotten again, something I hadn’t felt since that fateful day years ago. How horrible I was. How she struggled and begged for mercy. The surgeon turned on the machine and for just a second, I could feel and remember all the awful things I did to Mila, in all my lives.

I sat at the table in the bar, drinking an awful draft beer alone. It was a dark and hot summer night, but inside the bar there was air-conditioning so I felt comfortable. I looked around the bar since I was alone in my drinking and I ended up looking at a curious girl that was sitting on the opposite end of the bar. She had beautiful dark hair that turned purple whenever light hit it. Her eyes were pretty, and she was reading a magazine unconcerned with everything else. She noticed I was looking at her and smiled to me and I felt embarrassed. Making a decision, I quickly drank my entire draft beer and ordered another. I would need a lot of courage to talk to that beautiful woman. I got up from my table and walked in awkward steps over to her and smiled as she slowly lifted her gaze from her magazine to me. “Hi,” I said in a hopeful voice. “Hi,” she replied with a smile.

THE END

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