Chapter 4 - Smoke and Confessions
The acrid smell of sulfur and burning plastic filled the air, stinging Julian’s eyes and forcing him into a violent fit of coughing. Sharda pulled him down into the tall clover, shielding his head with her arms as distant shouting echoed from the parking lot.
"Stay low!" Miller commanded, her voice cutting through the thick haze. She dropped to one knee beside them, scanning the swirling smoke with her pistol raised. "Did he touch your bag, Sharda? Did he give either of you anything?"
"No!" Sharda coughed, wiping soot from her cheek. "He just talked about the Pine Street estate. What does he mean about my uncle?"
Miller holstered her weapon with a sharp click, her face pale under the gray light. "Your uncle was never your guardian, Sharda. He was a payroll officer for the foundation that bought your identity when you were three years old."
Julian stared up at the federal agent, his chest heaving. "Then who are we? If we aren't Julian and Sharda, why do we remember the green playroom?"
Miller hesitated, her eyes flickering with a deep, sorrowful regret. She reached into her trench coat and pulled out a heavy manila envelope stamped with red classified markers. "Because the green playroom was real. But you aren't cousins, and you didn't meet in this park by coincidence today."
"What are you talking about?" Sharda demanded, scrambling to her feet despite the smoke, her fists clenched at her sides. "We grew up in the same block! My mom baked cookies on Tuesdays!"
"Your mother passed away in a hospital in Boston six years ago, Sharda," Miller said gently, her voice barely audible over the hiss of the dying smoke canister. "The woman you called mother was a designated handler assigned to monitor your psychological development under the 'Orchard Protocol'."
Julian let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward until his spine hit the cold metal of a slide support. The playground structure seemed to tilt around him, the bright daytime sky suddenly feeling oppressive and fake, like a painted backdrop on a stage.
"That's a lie," Julian whispered, shaking his head frantically. "I remember the birthday cake. I remember the blue candles."
"They implanted those memories using sensory-association therapy before you were transferred to the upstate facility," Miller explained, holding out the heavy envelope. "Inside this folder are your real birth certificates. And the death certificate for the man who tried to adopt you both."
Sharda stared at the manila envelope as if it were a venomous snake. "And if we take that envelope?"
May you like
"Then you find out why Arthur was willing to kill you both in broad daylight," Miller replied grimly. "Because the estate on Pine Street wasn't an orphanage. It was a testing ground for experimental cognitive conditioning."
---
