“It wasn’t a complaint, just a recommendation,” Adam replied from the bed. “What’s wrong with asking for a cheeseburger at lunch?”
They’d already removed his IV, there were no more electrodes on his chest, and he wasn’t hooked up to any monitoring equipment.
Trevor took a seat next to his friend, and they both sat in silence for a while. The morning looked bright from the window; the city was as imposing as always, though a bit cold. The news could be heard faintly; someone in another room had the TV on and left the door open.
“How’re you feeling?”
Adam attempted a smile. “Better… Thanks.”
“Rita sends her regards. She says she’ll stop by after work,” Trevor said, and with a sigh, he let a pause hang in the air, making them both uneasy. “Adam… I…”
Adam held his breath, hoping his friend wouldn’t ask about what had happened; he wasn’t ready to address the whole Binary Project, his brother, and the mutant proteins without sounding insane.
“About the conversation we had the other night, at the club…” Trevor said.
Adam felt a wave of relief. “Don’t worry. Coming back from the dead has made me a new man.”
Trevor pressed his lips together. “Adam… What happened?”
He knew it. There was no use pretending his hospital admission wasn’t wrapped in strange circumstances. Sooner or later, Adam would have to face the question. He could try the ‘Sorry, I lost my memory and don’t remember anything’ card, but the lingering fear and bitter guilt would give him away. He lowered his gaze.
“Not now,” he said. Sooner or later, he’d have to, but not now. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
“Thanks, Trevor.” Adam looked up again, a bit embarrassed. “Kara told me it was you who took care of things: the police, the questions.”
This time, Trevor looked down, his face tinged with a blush.
“Yeah, well, I pulled some strings so that…” He removed his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “Let’s just say the police investigation into the case will move very, very slowly.”
“Well, if it moves so slowly that it stops completely, I’ll be more than happy, y’know?”
“I did it because it’s you, Adam, and I can imagine what he meant to you. I mean… you know. Kara told me about him.”
Thorns. Adam felt a tangle of thorns in his chest, right there, between his memories and his wounded sense of responsibility.
“Uh… Juzo, right,” he muttered.
“Yeah, him. I can imagine how you’re feeling, but I want you to tell me everything when you’re up to it, deal?”
Trevor’s expression had hardened. ‘I hate using my social status to pressure the justice system, so make my effort worth it,’ that look said, and Adam couldn’t afford to let anyone else down.
“I will, Trevor. Thanks.”
But where to even begin with Juzo Romita? Should he start by explaining the Binary Atavistic Project, the little he himself understood about it? Or by telling him that his brother had been a fugitive from a totalitarian regime that no one wanted anything to do with?
‘The Empire’s military has no idea Vicky and I are here,’ Juzo had assured him. If that were still true, at least it was one less problem.
“Hey, chin up!” said Trevor. “I bet by Friday, you’ll be back in that damned club, wading through that fake smoke. Oh, by the way, Lisandro Carinae called your office asking about you. Did he stop by?”
Adam let out a snort. “If a message that says, ‘Heard you were admitted. Get well soon,’ counts as a visit, then sure—he visited,” he said with a you know how it is kind of look. “Lisandro can pull his entire team together to land me on the cover of some damn magazine, but visiting someone in a hospital? That’d be asking way too much, y’know?” He shrugged and let his gaze drift toward the city beyond the window. “I guess that ‘part of my life’… is just part of my past now.”
Trevor nodded slowly, not quite sure what to say, and stepped out as housekeeping entered the room.
The next day, around midday, Kara Lieven discharged Adam.
“Come on. I’ll take you home,” she offered.
They moved down the wide hospital corridors toward the exit, weaving through people, patients coming and going, and doctors walking back and forth. In the distance, next to a door labeled ‘Authorized Personnel Only. No Entry,’ were two Cyclops automatons hauling away an old medical refrigerator, probably defective. Adam felt as if someone had hit him in the gut, so much that he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Just seeing them terrified him.
“Is something wrong?” Kara asked, worried. “Hey, if you’re not feeling well…”
Adam knew it was impossible; he knew neither of those androids could be the A60, yet a chill ran down his spine.
“No, no. It’s nothing,” he said, changing direction and taking the first hallway he found nearby.
“The parking lot’s this way,” she pointed out.
“Let’s go this way instead,” he said. At that moment, he didn’t care if he got lost in the sprawling hospital, ended up in a dead end, or in the gynecology wing—anything was better than passing by those two robots.
A few minutes later, outside in the sunlight with the fresh wind blowing, he realized he was still shaking.
Calm down. Calm down, he repeated to himself, glancing around just in case there were any other Cyclops nearby.
Kara unlocked the car, and as Adam was about to get in, he felt a presence beside him.
“Adam,” someone whispered in his ear. He turned, heart in his throat once again.
There was no one there.
“You okay, Adam?”
“Yeah, yeah. All good.”
“Hi, Mirtha,” Adam greeted as he approached the counter.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Startled, Mirtha Sandoval dropped the chocolate cookie she was munching on as though she’d been caught red-handed. She swallowed what was left in her mouth and let out a joyful squeal, sending a few crumbs flying over the open cookie packet.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
She stepped out from behind the reception desk, smoothing her hair. It was still short and teased, though she’d stopped bothering to dye the gray. Adam had known her his whole life and had never seen her with any other hairstyle.
“Long time no see!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug.
Adam smiled but gently pulled away.
“Easy, easy,” he said, explaining, “I just got out of the hospital yesterday.”
“Oh, forgive me!” Mirtha released him and looked at him in alarm. “The hospital?! What happened?”
“It was just a little scare,” clarified Kara Lieven, who had accompanied Adam. “Luckily, our patient here is doing fine now.”
Mirtha sighed in relief and then greeted Kara, though with far less enthusiasm than she had shown Adam.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said before turning her attention back to him. “You know, one of these days I’ll need to visit the hospital myself.” She rubbed her back with an exaggerated grimace. “My back—it just keeps getting worse.”
Mirtha Sandoval had been working at the reception desk of Proxima’s central orphanage for decades—the same number of years she’d been complaining about her back pain, as Adam and Kara both recalled. Of course, exaggerated complaints about physical ailments tended to sound more legitimate with age.
A group of kids ran past them, giggling.
“Hey, you little devils! No running in here!” Mirtha scolded, though there was no real anger in her tone.
The kids ignored her, laughing as they dashed down the hallway toward the orphanage’s inner courtyard.
Adam watched them go, his mind wandering to the countless times he had played in that very same spot. He mentally traced the path the kids were likely taking now—the hallway, the inner courtyard, the basketball court, the bathrooms, and the classrooms. It was all still there, just as he remembered it. The colors might have changed, but everything else remained the same.
“What brings you two here?” Mirtha’s question snapped him back to reality.
Adam flashed the smile that always guaranteed him a “yes” and leaned in to speak softly.
“I came to see the paperwork from when I was admitted to this lovely place… if that’s okay,” he said.
“Again?” Mirtha asked, puzzled. “Oh, sweetheart, we went through this a few years ago, remember?”
“I know, Mirtha, but this time it’s not just a phase. Trust me,” he said, excusing himself. “Come on, what do you say, huh?” He winked. “It’ll be our little secret… again.”
Mirtha put on a serious face. Up close, Adam could see that—despite leaving its marks, especially around her eyes—time had been kind to her.
“Fine. I’ll give you the key to the archive,” she whispered. “Juan’s fixing the air conditioning in Wing 5. If he sees you, just tell him you’re grabbing something I asked for. Got it?”
“Don’t worry, I know how to handle that old grouch.”
“And make sure you’re done before the director gets here. You know how she gets about anyone poking around in there.”
Adam nodded.
Mirtha returned to her spot behind the front desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a key. Before handing it over, though, she snapped her fingers like she’d just remembered something.
“Oh! But first…” she said, holding up a hand. “The other day, y’know? I walked past the holo-newsstand, saw it, and just had to buy it!”
Mirtha opened another drawer and revealed the plastic card of a holo-magazine which, after a swipe, turned out to be an issue of Loud—with Adam as the cover boy. She handed it to him along with a pen.
“This afternoon I’m meeting up with the girls for cards. I want your autograph so I can rub it in their faces. That bunch of old biddies doesn’t believe I used to change the famous Adam White’s diapers when he was a baby, y’know?”
Adam blushed. Kara had to look away to hide her laughter.
To Mirtha, the most beautiful lady at the Central Orphanage, and the woman who’s given me an earful more times than I can count. With love, Adam. And yes, the diaper thing is true.
He signed the back of the card.
“I can’t wait to see Clotilde’s face,” Mirtha laughed. “She’s got a poster of you from when you modeled… y’know, in underwear. She claims it’s her daughter’s, but it’s hanging in her bedroom.”
“Mirtha…” Adam’s tone turned so serious that it cast a shadow over her cheerful expression. “I know I’ve asked you this a thousand times, but…”
Before he could finish, Mirtha shook her head with a compassionate look that seemed to ask, ‘Why do you keep bringing this up when you already know what I know?’
“No, sweetheart,” she said. “I’d just started working here when they brought you in, but I remember no one at the hospital could explain how you’d gotten there. The nurse who found you said she’d been alone in the ward when she heard a baby crying and…”
“…And went to check, and there I was, lying on one of the beds,” Adam finished.
Mirtha nodded as if to say, See? You already know the story.
“Even things like this weren’t much help,” she added, motioning to the security camera overhead.
“Hey, do you know if this place ever admitted any kids who came from overseas? Like from Markabia or somewhere else in Pannotia?” Adam asked. “I think my parents might’ve been from there.”
Mirtha shrugged. Her gesture conveyed genuine ignorance—not what Adam wanted, but what he expected.
He didn’t push further, took the key, and headed to the archive room with Kara.
A while later, they came out with no more information than they’d gone in with.
Back at reception, Adam returned the key to Mirtha, who once again dropped the cookie she was holding as though it were a hot iron.
“Remember what we talked about—watch your glucose levels, Mirtha,” Kara gently chided.
“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s the anxiety,” Mirtha said, excusing herself. She then said goodbye with another hug—gentler this time—and, like a grandmother bursting with pride over her grandson’s achievements, held up the autographed Loud card and laughed. She looked more like a giddy child than a woman in her sixties.
“Mr. Kelsey, good morning. This is Adam White. Do you remember me?”
“Who?”
“White O22 from Proxima Orphanage. I contacted you a few years ago; does that ring a bell?”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah…”
“You used to work at the reception desk at Proxima Central Hospital when I was found. Do you recall my case?”
“Uh… Didn’t we already talk about that, kid?”
“Yeah, we did. It’s just that… Well, you know I met my brother, and he lives—well, lived—in Pannotia.”
“Oh! Congratulations! That’s great to hear.”
“Thank you. Mr. Kelsey, since you must’ve filled out thousands of forms back then, I was wondering if you might remember admitting anyone from there—maybe a refugee from the Markabian Empire, not just abandoned kids, but anyone.”
“Uh, no. I’m afraid not, kid. I don’t know if things have changed now, but back then, there were a lot of diplomatic issues with that continent.”
“I see. No worries. Thank you for your time, Mr. Kelsey. Goodbye.”
“Mrs. Page, good morning. This is Adam White. Do you remember me?”
“Of course! The little rascal who always made the girls cry.”
Adam forced a chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. That’s me.”
“Are you still taking half-naked pictures, boy?”
“No, no, Mrs. Page. I’m not modeling anymore.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You were heading down the wrong path with that nonsense.”
“I know, I know. Mrs. Page, I wanted to ask if you remember anything about my case. Something recently came up, and—”
“No, no. I don’t remember much about my time at the orphanage. My memory’s not what it used to be. I’m sorry.”
Liar, Adam thought. You remember me making the girls cry, but now your memory’s suddenly failing you?
“I’m sorry, kid. But you might want to check with Mirtha at reception; maybe she knows something.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks for your time, Mrs. Page. Have a good day.”
“Goodbye… And remember, no more naked photos. You’re worth more than that.”
“I will, Mrs. Page. Thank you.”
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Rugertoff?”
“No. Who is this?”
Definitely not Mrs. Hilda Rugertoff. The voice belonged to a hyperactive young woman.
“Good afternoon. My name is Adam White…”
“White? You’re one of the orphans, right?”
“Yes, I’m White O22. Mrs. Hilda was the director during my time there.”
“I knew it! Proxima regulations on orphanages and foundlings, Article 986. I’m studying law, y’know? We covered that topic recently.”
“Uh… That’s great, I guess—”
“The great economic collapse of 2060 led to a wave of suicides and broken families, which increased the number of abandoned children. The law states that the foundling’s name will be assigned by the person assisting them at the time of admission, and their surname will reflect the color of the district where they were found, followed by a code until they are claimed or adopted. Isn’t that right?”
“Wow! You’ve done your homework.”
“I sure have!”
“Right, well, I was actually trying to reach Mrs. Rugertoff—”
“I’m sorry. My grandma passed away a few years ago.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I’m Valeria. Hey, if you’re interested in participating in a discussion about orphanage policies in the city, I can call you when—”
“I’m sorry, Valeria, but right now… I’ve got something urgent going on. But I’d love to another time.”
“Alright, no problem.”
“Nice meeting you, Valeria. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Ad—!”
Click. The call ended. Along with it, Adam’s motivation to keep digging into his past.