69. Spotless Mind

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March 25, 2037 - 5:25 PM

Fifteen-year-old Margo Sandoval rested against the wall of the Psychwatch hallway, pondering how she'd say goodbye to her old world.

Almost two weeks had passed since her near-death at the hands of her father, and the days couldn't go any slower. If time healed all wounds, then time also possessed a sadistic streak, picking at scabs so they could never heal. The more it picked, the more other people could see the scar that would take the place of the wound.

Margo wondered how much the process would repress. They called it Erase-and-Replace in articles online. It would convert traumatic experiences into new, modified memories, like tampered evidence in a crime scene. She wondered if the process could convince her that her dad was a gentle individual who died tragically young rather than a violent abuser who deserved to be gunned down. Maybe when she'd wake up, she'd be rich and popular and charismatic and confident. Maybe when she'd wake up...

Margo grabbed her head, feeling faint. On paper, it should've been a miracle. Go to sleep, then awaken with a mind devoid of trauma, like a pleasant dream immune to reality's shattering blows. But she wasn't tearing out pages and forcing them through a shredder. She was tossing the entire book into the flames, from the first chapter to the very last. Perhaps there were some pages worth keeping, worth another review.

Hmm, she thought, but nothing came to mind. Especially with the ruckus beyond the door.

Margo leaned in closer and heard three voices. The loudest was her mother's, laced with frustrations buried for far too long, finally making their way out like worms from soil. There were two other voices, both of them male. One was gravelly, precise, yet harboring a layer of impatience more subtle than her mother, as he did his best to let her down carefully. As for the other, words only left his tongue once every twenty to thirty seconds, but his voice was softer and attentive, offering his deepest sympathies only when he was sure he could follow through on the implications of his cordial words and gestures.

I'm sorry, Miss Sandoval. My deepest apologies, Miss Sandoval. I wish we could do more for you and your daughter, Miss Sandoval. It was always the same thing along those lines. Maybe she and her mother weren't pathetic enough to warrant Psychwatch's services entirely, Margo thought. The doctor-cops saw worse situations. This was nothing. Why waste time, money, medications, and the technology of the future on them?

One of Margo's classmates told her something equivalent not too long ago, a girl her age named Alexa. "I hope you know no one gives a shit about you. Your dad could've killed you that day. No one would've cared. The teachers aren't getting paid enough to give a shit. You tell the counselors what they want to hear, and they leave you alone. See? So just disappear already."

Margo wasn't a fighter. Not yet. Any attempts at throwing or blocking a punch would've broken something. Or they'd might as well. She'd fought back before, and each time they'd laugh in her face and tell her those hits were nothing. Only gusts of wind. They said very little after she'd grabbed Alexa by her hair and yanked with all her might.

Margo didn't regret standing up for herself, but of all the images catalogued in her memory, the sight of blood trickling down Alexa's scalp and nose, the oozy sensation of the red fluid on her fingertips, Alexa's shrieking, she wouldn't miss a single one of them.

She tensed up in her seat, her eyes burning into the wall opposing her, when footsteps sounded through the hall. Until then, the headquarters were for her and no one else, loads of space for her to sulk uninterrupted. Now she was alone in the hallway with Carl.

The officer froze, the two of them wondering who'd move a muscle first, utter the first word. What would they even say? Greetings? Condolences? Pointless small talk? Hell, some of the most powerful interactions between individuals happened without a single word. So they remained quiet, even as Carl took the seat next to her.

He's going to turn his ThoughtControl piece on, Margo thought. Gonna hijack the nearest scan and see what I'm thinking. I guess it's better than talking. I'm tired of making up excuses about where these bruises came from. Or the limp. Or the cuts on my lip.

Carl stared straight ahead at the same wall Margo refused to glance away from. The holographic lens of his ThoughtControl piece blinked into existence before his very eye.

I'm tired of everyone looking at me like they're surprised to see that I'm still alive. Looking at me like I did them all a dishonor, surviving what my dad put me through. Did I somehow deserve to almost die that night? Would I have been better off dead? People always find it easier to feel bad for someone until after they've left the room. Until after it's too late.

Frustration burned within Margo. Her mind felt clouded, and she felt the familiar sensation of fingers trying to force the hemispheres of her brain apart. She couldn't think of a better way to describe the pain, but all she wanted was for someone to know it was there.

I'm tired of sleeping in motel rooms and homeless shelters and hearing my mom cry every night. I'm tired of knowing I appear in every recurring nightmare of hers. Tired of never being the victim and always being someone who had it coming. What did I even do? Why is this happening? What the fuck did I do to deserve this?

Margo's eyes watered, the bruises on her face stinging, yet she and Carl kept their eyes trained on the wall before them.

I'm not sure if anyone is listening. Whether it's God or the gods, Psychwatch, or even just you, Carl. Or maybe there's no one listening to me at all. I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe I ask for too much. Maybe a peace of mind, a nice home, a loving family, and money is too much to ask for nowadays. I'm sorry if it is! But you know what? I don't want any of that anymore because I will never get any of that! You know what I want? Whoever is listening, if there even is anyone listening, do you know what I want most in this world?

Margo closed her eyes, a black hole filling her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Margo?" Carl said.

I just want one good day. That's it. One good day, then I can disappear, and everyone else can live long and happy without having to worry about me. I have no future. Maybe I don't deserve one.

"Margo, please..."

The young girl wrapped herself around Carl's arm, burying her face into the sleeve of his jacket, and like the professional he was, he let her cry, a wraithlike wail departing her body as if coming from the other side of reality itself, a ghost begging for the life snatched away from her.

"I know," Carl said, laying a hand on her head, and he said it again. "I know. It'll get better."

The officer felt Margo shake her head.

"It will. I'll make sure of it."

Minutes passed, and Margo's sobs went down to a harsh whisper. She clutched the sleeve of his jacket as if she'd be torn away from him at any moment. He felt the fabric cling to his arm, wet from her tears, and he waited longer, all day if he had to. And he looked down at his LED ring, the light shimmering a sky blue.

The door to the room beside them opened, and a man stepped out. He wore a light blue dress shirt beneath a gray vest and jeans. His combed, light brown hair contradicted the spiky hair he sported in the picture on his ID. The name beneath the picture, however, commanded respect from every Psychwatch officer who came across him.

"Hello again, Mr. Lynch," Carl said.

"Hello, Carl," nodded Cyrus Lynch, and Margo realized he was the more comforting voice she'd heard behind the door. "Is this her?"

"Yes, sir," Carl said, and he tapped Margo's shoulder. "There's someone here who'd like to speak to you. Don't worry, you can trust him."

Margo glared up at Carl, her eyes bright red, her cheeks damp with tears. She sniffed and slowly turned toward Cyrus, leaning back into her seat.

"Hi there," he smiled, quickly transforming into a frown as he kneeled down to her level. "Gosh, you've been through a lot, haven't you?"

Margo nodded her head, glancing down at the man's shoes.

"Margo Sandoval, right? That's such a pretty name. And your mother is a wonderful woman for bringing you here today. I hope you know she's doing her best to look out for you. You know that, right, sweetie?"

It took a little longer, but Margo nodded again.

"Sad to say," Cyrus said, "we've hit a roadblock. She told us everything. We'd like to offer you and her Erase-and-Replace, but she can't afford it at the moment. We told her she wouldn't have to worry about it, especially now that you're both in the System. But she thinks she won't have enough money to support the two of you in the future."

Margo sat back in her chair, and the three of them sat in silence, saying nothing but knowing everything.

I don't want to go back to school, Margo thought. One thing I liked most about this procedure was that I'd have to switch schools. I wouldn't remember anything they said or did to me. And I don't have to worry about forgetting friends because I never had any to begin with.

Cyrus rose to his feet, fists clenched and expression somber. That had to mean some people at Psychwatch cared, Margo thought. At least a few of them. At least one of its two co-founders.

While she wouldn't remember that day, nor the ones leading up to the procedure, Margo would discover that Officer Carl Maslow was one of those individuals who cared.

"Mr. Lynch," he said, "I'll pay for their treatment."

He and Margo watched the man's brows creep up his forehead. "Are you sure?" Cyrus said. "Even I'll admit, it's quite pricey."

"Not a problem."

"Well, you should still talk it over with Miss Sandoval. She's in here."

"Whatever I gotta do," Carl said, and he rose from his seat.

"Would you like to come inside, honey?" Cyrus asked. "It sounds like you'll be able to go through with the treatment after all. We'll just discuss it a little longer with your mother. Would you like to be a part of the conversation?"

Margo mustered the strength to gaze into Cyrus Lynch's hazel eyes for two seconds straight, returning her sights to the wall once more. I'm fine right here, she thought. Thank you, Carl.

"No problem, kid," Carl said, a small smile crossing his face. "Told you everything will get better."

I don't know just yet.

But the two Psychwatch officers vanished back into the room before Margo could read their expressions, see if they could still read her thoughts. Margo slumped back into her chair, closing her eyes.

She opened them again when the door flew open, and her mother greeted her with a powerful hug. The two of them sobbed once more, and Margo pondered if her mother was relieved or terrified of the future that awaited them.

* * *

Friday. March 27. 4:25 PM. Two days later. The appointment was at 4:40. Margo sat in the passenger seat with her mother at the wheel, gazing into the mirror. She studied the yellowish bruises around her eyes, the scabbed cuts on her lips and nose. Only another week, and they'd fade away for good. Only an hour, and the pain below the surface would disappear, too.

But would her mother meet her on the other side unscathed? Or would she keep the truth to herself? The thoughts tugged at her like a fishhook.

During the car ride to Psychwatch, Margo came across a side of her mother she'd never seen before, one she realized she'd never see again thanks to the procedure. Karen Sandoval, the kindest woman with the cleanest mouth, swearing at the top of her lungs until she was red in the face. She cursed the lives they'd lived, the opportunities missed, the underlying pain beneath their few fleeting moments of happiness. Their vacations weren't happy or tranquil or filled with love. Instead, they were outlined by dread, tension, endless frustrations, always becoming contests to see who'd be the first to drop the act. Who would break down in tears first? Who would curse out another first? Destroy furniture or break a window or elicit a noise complaint?

"You know what, Margo?" she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she forced out a chuckle. "Maybe when we're done here, I'll have our last name changed. It reminds me too much of him."

But Sandoval is our last name, thought Margo, not his. It's our identity.

"I never really liked our last name anyway, if I'll be honest," Karen said. "Sandoval. It's Hispanic. But growing up, your grandparents never taught me Spanish, and that's why I could never teach you. I could never fit in with other Hispanics that way, and it's always been an insecurity of mine. Did you know that?"

"No," Margo said, but she kept her eyes on the passing cityscape, wondering how strange it would look once the procedure was over. Would she really have to relearn what city she lived in?

"Yeah, it's true! Other Hispanics would call me 'white girl' or 'gringa', and other races would bash me for being Hispanic. Then your father comes into the picture, takes it for himself, thinking he's so progressive for taking the wife's last name, and then does everything he can to be a fucking terrible excuse for a human being! You know what I think of every time I hear our last name, Margo? That night I almost lost you. And I hear that name every time I go to work. That image has yet to leave my mind and—"

"Mom."

"I'm..." Her mother paused, and the two of them lingered in heavy silence for two minutes, taking in the sounds of the surrounding city.

Taking a deep breath, a few tears coming loose, Karen whispered, "I'm sorry, Margo."

"It's okay," Margo said in a monotone voice.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The same flat note as before.

"No, it isn't."

"Then what do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything at all. It's not like you'll even remember it."

"Right," Margo nodded.

"So...if you want to tell me I'm a failure and a terrible mother, now is the time to do so."

Margo turned to look at her mother, the sunlight gleaming off the streaks of tears trailing down her cheeks. "You're not a terrible mother," she said.

Karen forced out another chuckle, one that seemed to hurt her more than comfort. "Sure," she said.

"But you're not."

Another stiff round of laughter. "Margo, I'm taking you to have your memories erased. That's not natural. Do you really think a good mother would do this?"

"Yes," Margo said, emotion finally seeping into her voice. "This is for the best. At least I think so! And it's not like we're gonna erase the fact you're my mom. We need each other!"

Once more, forced chuckles from her mother. Margo's hands shook, and she felt as if smoke would discharge from her mouth. She screamed, "Mom, stop laughing!"

And silence came between them. Margo saw that a light smirk remained on her mother's face. How the fuck can she laugh at me? Margo thought. Am I that much of a joke?

"Why are you laughing?" she muttered.

The smirk disappeared. "Excuse me?" Karen said in a low voice.

"Oh, now you're mad? For fuck's sake."

"Hey," her mother said, "I'm not liking this attitude, Margo. Watch your mouth."

Margo buried her nails into her seat. "I just want to know why you were laughing every time I said you were a good mother. You're making me feel like I'm an idiot for saying that! So what's so funny?"

Karen shrugged, eyes glued to the road ahead. "I mean, how can you even say that with a straight face? After everything that's happened."

"Because you're still here with me! Because you haven't neglected me or hurt me the way Dad did."

"How many nights have I left you alone with him?"

Suddenly, Margo felt as if an arrowhead pierced her throat, and all the blood and oxygen sprayed out of the wound, choking her. The answer to her mother's question? Too high a number, Margo realized. But that wasn't her fault! Maybe she didn't have a choice? She had to stay long hours, make extra money so we could get away from him. That doesn't count as neglect, right? Right?

"Yeah," Karen said, "I thought so."

"Wait," Margo said, "but you had no choice! And half the time, I wasn't alone at home that long. I'd stay after school or go to the library or the park or just anywhere but home! I even did what you said and asked Mrs. Macias if I could stay the night in her motel, and—"

Margo froze, her hands and legs feeling welded to her seat. Her mouth gaped open as she looked her mother in the eye, an array of emotions fighting for dominance in them. Resentment. Shame. Doubt. Bright red veins had exploded across the white of her eyes like a bloody knife wound, a consequence of her weeping. All Margo could gather was that silence was their best option.

Until she saw that the car ahead of them came to a stop.

"MOM, LOOK OUT!"

Her mother slammed on the break with a powerful thud, and the two of them flew forward, their seatbelts propelling them back into their seats. The vehicle halted before them was a Psychwatch van, the psi logo emblazoned on its back in silver paint. The two of them realized they'd reached the headquarters, only one right turn away from entering the parking lot.

Once the van was back in motion, so were they. Margo no longer cherished the silence between her and her mother.

"Mom," she said, "are you going to have your memories erased, too?"

Her mother replied, "No."

"Oh. That way you can tell me the truth someday?"

"The truth about what?"

"I...I don't know. Whatever we might've revealed about ourselves today."

With a sigh, her mother said, "Maybe."

* * *

The silver holographic logo hovering above the headquarters. The circuit-like pinstripes on the wall. SanityScans protruding from every corner. Rooms called SafeSpaces with translucent windows. Margo tried to catalog it all before she'd seal it away in a safe deep within her brain, maybe crack it open again in the unforeseeable future.

She sat in a reclining chair, red cushions planted beneath her arms and legs. Her mother was in the next room, filling out documents with Carl and Cyrus Lynch. In the room itself, eight Empaths worked to assemble the technology required for the procedure, plugging and unplugging wires, studying holographic screens and charts, adjusting the lighting in the room. One man intrigued her the most, an Asian man with messy black hair and a dark gray suit standing out from his colleagues.

He ambled toward Margo, holding a chip-like device. As he leaned in to position it against Margo's left temple, she saw that his name tag read T. FUJIOKA.

"Ow," she winced, the bruises around her eye stinging.

"My apologies," the man said, and he tapped the device again, eliciting another tinge of pain from her.

"You look familiar."

"Well," he said, "I'm sure I won't once the procedure is over. Have you seen me in this place before?"

"Not here, but...aren't you Tetsuo Fujioka? One of the co-founders?"

"That is correct."

"What are you doing here helping me, of all people?"

Tetsuo tapped the device again, and along with another wince from Margo, the device beeped. He stepped away and looked her

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