“Brandon dumped me. Meet at Vertigo?” I wait for my sister’s reply text and remind myself that I won’t hate her forever. A half-dozen martinis and watching her squirm in guilt will go a long way in helping me forgive how she stole yet another boyfriend.
Her reply lights up my bedroom. “On my way.”
I snatch my keys off the table and reach for the doorknob, lurching forward as my hand falls through. I gasp, blinking fast. Did the knob flicker? I push against the solid, wooden surface of the door, and for a millisecond, a blue grid appears across my entire line of vision. I try the knob a second time, but my hand slips through again. I’m trapped.
Memories flood from the night raindrops plunked on the windshield as my sister, shivering, mounted her bike outside of Vertigo, then wobbled down the highway. I watched for nearly a quarter-mile before revving the engine. I remember the copper scent of blood, Brandon’s shaking shoulders in the courtroom, the verdict, the cold handcuffs, the wariness in my attorney’s eyes as he explained the new initiative to re-wire criminal brains using virtual reality. I remember signing the waiver, and the metallic taste of the anesthesia wearing off. I remember the surgeon warning me that adrenaline triggers real memories. When that happens, the implant will re-boot the experience, and I’ll never recall what triggered the reset.
I pick up my phone and text my sister. “Brandon dumped me. Meet at Vertigo?”
