The Memory Collector by Meg Gardiner Read Free Book Online Page B

brain is being scratched out.” He drew a breath. “Erased.”
    “In a way, yes.”
    “Like I’m looking through a camera viewfinder but can’t click the shutter,” Kanan said. “Am I going to become a vegetable?”
    She held on to his gaze. “No.”
    “I’m gonna end up staring out the window drooling?”
    “Not at all,” Simioni said.
    Kanan’s gaze lengthened. Simioni continued explaining things, but Jo knew that Kanan heard none of it. His head and heart were stuck at the screeching red letters that had just been scrawled across his life. Mind wipe.
    Jo touched Kanan’s hand. “You have some kind of brain trauma. That’s all we know.”
    She gauged his pulse. It was fast and strong. He was wearing a denim shirt over a brown T-shirt. The logo on the T-shirt said FADE TO CLEAR . Kanan saw her reading it.
    “My kid’s garage band. They got a dozen shirts made in the Haight.” He blinked. Though he looked calm, he was breathing rapidly. “Find out what’s wrong with me. Fix it.”
    “We’re trying,” Jo said. “But it’s doing damage right now, and that damage is not the kind that can be repaired.”
    Simioni’s pager went off. “Have to go.” He crossed his arms. “Mr. Kanan, we’re doing everything we can. Hang in there.”
    He left. Kanan watched the door close.
    “None of this makes sense. I remember everything. Ian David Kanan. Age thirty-five. Blood type A-positive.”
    He reeled off his address, date of birth, driver’s license and Social Security numbers. “I broke my arm at summer camp when I was eight. I took Misty to the senior prom. I work at Chira-Sayf. I can recite the security code to open the door to the lab there.”
    “What time is it?” Jo said.
    He looked bemused. “I don’t know, dinnertime?”
    “Twelve thirty P.M.”
    Kanan looked out the window. The noon sun was fighting the rain clouds. The sight took him aback.
    “How did you get here?” Jo said.
    “I guess—I drove.”
    “Ambulance.”
    He frowned in confusion and surprise.
    Jo lowered her voice. “In the ambulance, I told you about the head injury. You said, ‘They’ll say it was self-inflicted.’”
    He didn’t reply, but instead took out his phone. “Excuse me. I need to call my wife.”
    “Look at your dialed calls register.”
    He thumbed the keypad. He saw the dozens of calls he’d made and looked for a second like he’d been hit between the eyes with a rock. Jo let silence settle on the room.
    “Who’s going to say your injury is self-inflicted, Ian? And why?”
    He stuck his phone in his pocket and turned toward the door. “I need to leave.”
    Jo stepped firmly into his path. “What happened to you?”
    He stopped, but just barely. “Please excuse me. But I’m going now.”
    “What happened overseas? How did you get those gouges in your arm? Tell me. Because I can still section you. And the cops won’t hesitate to arrest you.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a spitfire. Ever been a drill sergeant?”
    “I didn’t need to be. I’m mean enough to keep soldiers in line without having to pull rank.” She hoped that never got back to the man in her life. “Now tell me—what happened to you?”
    Kanan’s face tightened, and for a moment she thought he was going to bat her aside. Then the sad mixture of pain and irony spread across his face. “The real question is, what’s going to happen to me?”
    Her shoulders inched down. “You’re going to stay the same person. This won’t affect your intelligence or personality. It won’t affect your existing memories. It won’t erase any of the knowledge and skills you have.”
    “I’ll still be able to drive a car and skin a deer.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll know everybody? I’ll still recognize them?”
    “Yes. This isn’t dementia. It’s not Alzheimer’s.”
    “But my brain won’t record.”
    “In essence, no.”
    “So it’s all live performance. Nothing goes into long-term storage. I have no hard drive.”
    He