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eBook Category: Dark Fantasy
eBook Description: Object permanence is the characteristic of a very young baby to believe that things only exist when they are seen. When they are out of sight ... or forgotten ... they no longer exist. But what if there were people who had this as a power ... that used it to keep people and places always just as they remember?

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Fictionwise.com, 2002
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2002

28 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [174 KB], eReader (PDB) [60 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [49 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [45 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [88 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [116 KB], hiebook (KML) [146 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [84 KB], iSilo (PDB) [40 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [51 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [79 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [71 KB]
Words: 15039
Reading time: 42-60 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

He was here again today, standing in the corner, arms limp.

He wears nothing, yet does not conceal his nudity. Pale with a thick thatch of pubic hair that stands out like a dark tunnel through his white body and the white, white room.

I get so little company these days that his presence would actually be comforting if it weren't for the total lack of features on his face. I don't just mean that his features are indistinct or forgettable.

I mean he has no features. No eyes, ears, nose, mouth. His head is a smooth, shining white ball atop a lanky body. He gives me the distinct impression of a living bedpost.

In fact, the only feature on his entire body is his thick pubic hair and the constantly erect penis that juts from it. It is not remarkable, neither large nor small. Neither suspended at a unique angle nor pointed straight up. It's just there, hanging in space.

Like its owner, there is very little detail to it. No veins, no pores, no dark band to mark where he was circumcised. Only the small hole at its tip is visible. I half suspected that, were I to stand and examine the top of his head, I'd find a similar dark hole.

But, of course, I can't. Violent ones are strapped in the jacket and leashed to the padded wall. No sudden movements to alarm the staff. I mean, Christ!, I've already killed three or four people.

I forget.

God help me. That's the problem.

I have a mantra of names that I recite hour after hour, day after blurry, drug-fogged, endless, run-together day. Everyone I know or have known, being very careful to leave out the ones I know are dead.

Lord knows what would happen if I were to remember them.

The ones I forget are the problem. I try so hard to remember, but sometimes the drugs and the electroshock therapy (Yes, Virginia, there is a Sears Die-Hard!) make me forget.

And that scares me.

What happens if I forget myself?

It's like the lightbulb in the icebox. Is it really off when you close the door? Or is it on all the time?

An interesting question.

And I can't tell if I'm the icebox or just another lightbulb.

"And how are you today, Mr. Stadler?" asked Dr. Benton, keeping his distance.

"Fine," I answered in a noncommittal tone. He'd already forgotten about me and moved straight on to the words and numbers on the chart he held tightly.

"Any side effects from the electro-convulsive therapy?" he asked absently, almost not expecting or wanting an answer.

"No more than usual," I answered, moving slightly, enough to cause the metal clasp on the leash to jingle against the jacket straps.

He looked up, trying not to appear to have done so too quickly.

"You don't like talking to me, do you?"

"Don't like you, Mr. Stadler?" he asked. "Why would you say that?"

"No, you don't know me enough to dislike me. You just don't like to talk with me."

He considered this, plainly uncomfortable. "Well, it could be the fact that you've assaulted six staff members in two years. Maybe I just don't want to be the seventh." He smiled, tight and grim. "If you have any trouble, I'll be back again in three hours. We can discuss it then. And we can move you back into your own room tomorrow ... if you'll cooperate.

He turned and rapped sharply on the little Plexiglas window high up in the padded door.

"Wait!" I pleaded as the door drew open and light from the corridor--outdoor light, sunlight--crept into my room like ether.

"I didn't mean to. I try so hard ... to remember. But, they're falling away like leaves. I'm afraid of the shock treatments. Afraid they'll make ... afraid I'll forget me.

This held him in the doorway for a second. Then, he turned and left, the door closing behind him, and I heard the sound of the bolt slide into place.

I began the mantra immediately. After the first run through, I thought for a moment, then added my own name.