Forget Me Nearly is a Webnovel created by Floyd L. Wallace.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
But she had changed again in a fraction of a second. Her face was twisted with an effort at self-control.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. He tried to make his voice gentle, but it wouldn’t come out that way. The retrogression process had sharpened all his reactions–this one too.
“The name I finally arrived at was–Luise Obispo,” she said.
He started. The same as his, except feminine! This was more than he’d dared hope for. A clue–and this girl, who he suddenly realized, without any cynicism about “love at first sight,” because the tapes hadn’t included it, meant something to him.
“Maybe you’re my wife,” he said tentatively.
“Don’t count on it,” she said wearily. “It would have been better if we were strangers–then it wouldn’t matter what we did. Now there are too many factors, and I can’t choose.”
“It has to be,” he argued. “Look–the same name, and so close together in time and place, and we were attracted instantly–“
“Go away,” she said, and the gun didn’t waver. It was not a threat that he could ignore. He left.
She was wrong in making him leave, completely wrong. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he was certain. But he couldn’t prove it, and she wasn’t likely to accept his unsubstantiated word.
He leaned weakly against the door. It was like that. Retrogression had left him with an adult body and sharper receptiveness. And after that followed an urge to live fully. He had a lot of knowledge, but it didn’t extend to this sphere of human behavior.
Inside he could hear her moving around faintly, an emotional anticlimax. It wasn’t just frustrated s.e.x desire, though that played a part. They had known each other previously–the instant attraction they’d had for each other was proof, leaving aside the names. Lord, he’d trade his unknown ident.i.ty to have her. He should have taken another name–any other name would have been all right.
It wasn’t because she was the first woman he’d seen, or the woman he had first re-seen. There had been nurses, some of them beautiful, and he’d paid no attention to them. But Luise Obispo was part of his former life–and he didn’t know what part. The reactions were there, but until he could find out why, he was denied access to the satisfactions.
From a very narrow angle, and only from that angle, he could see that there was still a light inside. It was dim, and if a person didn’t know, he might pa.s.s by and not notice it.
His former observation about the Shelters was incorrect. Every dwelling might be occupied and he couldn’t tell unless he examined them individually.
He stirred. The woman was a clue to his problem, but the clue itself was a far more urgent problem. Though his ident.i.ty was important, he could build another life without it and the new life might not be worse than the one from which he had been forcibly removed.
Perhaps he was over-reacting, but he didn’t think so: _his new life had to include this woman_.
He wasn’t equipped to handle the emotion. He stumbled away from the door and found an unoccupied dwelling and went in without turning on the lights and lay down on the bed.
In the morning, he knew he had been here before. In the darkness he had chosen unknowingly but also unerringly. This was the place in which he had been retrogressed.
It was here that the police had picked him up.
The counselor looked sleepily out of the screen. “I wish you people didn’t have so much energy,” he complained. Then he looked again and the sleepiness vanished. “I see you found it the first time.”
Luis knew it himself, because there was a difference from the dwelling Luise lived in–not much, but perceptible to him. The counselor, however, must have a phenomenal memory to distinguish it from hundreds of others almost like it.
Borgenese noticed the expression and smiled. “I’m not an eidetic, if that’s what you think. There’s a number on the set you’re calling from and it shows on my screen. You can’t see it.”
They would have something like that, Luis thought. “Why didn’t you tell me this was it before I came?”
“We were pretty sure you’d find it by yourself. People who’ve just been retroed usually do. It’s better to do it on your own. Our object is to have you recover your personality. If we knew who you were, we could set up a program to guide you to it faster. As it is, if we help you too much, you turn into a carbon copy of the man who’s advising you.”
Luis nodded. Give a man his adult body and mind and turn him loose on the problems which confronted him, and he would come up with adult solutions. It was better that way.
But he hadn’t called to discuss that. “There’s another person living in the Shelters,” he said. “You found her three weeks before you found me.”
“So you’ve met her already? Fine. We were hoping you would.” Borgenese chuckled. “Let’s see if I can describe her. Apparent age, about twenty-three; that means that she was originally between twenty-six or thirty-eight, with the probability at the lower figure. A good body, as you are probably well aware, and a striking face. Somewhat overs.e.xed at the moment, but that’s all right–so are you.”
He saw the expression on Luis’s face and added quickly: “You needn’t worry. Draw a parallel with your own experience. There were pretty nurses all around you in retro-therapy, and I doubt that you noticed that they were female. That’s normal for a person in your position, and it’s the same with her.
“It works this way: you’re both unsure of yourselves and can’t react to those who have some control over their emotions. When you meet each other, you can sense that neither has made the necessary adjustments, and so you are free to release your true feelings.”
He smiled broadly. “At the moment, you two are the only ones who have been retroed recently. You won’t have any compet.i.tion for six months or so, until you begin to feel comfortable in your new life. By then, you should know how well you really like each other.
“Of course tomorrow, or even today, we might find another person in the Shelter. If it’s a man, you’ll have to watch out; if a woman, you’ll have too much companionship. As it is, I think you’re very lucky.”
Yeah, he was lucky–or would be if things were actually like that.
Yesterday he would have denied it; but today, he’d be willing to settle for it, if he could get it.
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “She took the same name that I did.”
Borgenese’s smile flipped over fast, and the other side was a frown.
For a long time he sat there scowling out of the screen. “That’s a h.e.l.l of a thing to tell me before breakfast,” he said. “Are you sure?
She couldn’t decide on a name before she left.”
“I’m sure,” said Luis, and related all the details of last night.
The counselor sat there and didn’t say anything.
Luis waited as long as he could. “You can trace _us_ now,” he said.
“One person might be difficult. But two of us with nearly the same name, that should stick out big, even in a population of sixteen billion. Two people are missing from somewhere. You can find that.”
The counselor’s face didn’t change. “You understand that if you were killed, we’d find the man who did it. I can’t tell you how, but you can be sure he wouldn’t escape. In the last hundred years there’s been no unsolved murder.”
He coughed and turned away from the screen. When he turned back, his face was calm. “I’m not supposed to tell you this much. I’m breaking the rule because your case and that of the girl is different from any I’ve ever handled.” He was speaking carefully. “Listen. I’ll tell you once and won’t repeat it. If you ever accuse me, I’ll deny I said it, and I have the entire police organization behind me to make it stick.”
The counselor closed his eyes as if to see in his mind the principle he was formulating. “If we can catch a murderer, no matter how clever he may be, it ought to be easier to trace the ident.i.ty of a person who is still alive. It is. _But we never try._ Though it’s all right if the victim does.
“_If I should ask the cooperation of other police departments, they wouldn’t help. If the solution lies within an area over which I have jurisdiction and I find out who is responsible, I will be dismissed before I can prosecute the man._”
Luis stared at the counselor in helpless amazement. “Then you’re not doing anything,” he said shakily. “You lied to me. You don’t intend to do anything.”
“You’re overwrought,” said Borgenese politely. “If you could see how busy we are in your behalf–” He sighed. “My advice is that if you can’t convince the girl, forget her. If the situation gets emotionally unbearable, let me know and I can arrange transportation to another city where there may be others who are–uh–more compatible.”
“But she’s my wife,” he said stubbornly.
“Are you sure?”
Actually Luis wasn’t–but he wanted _her_ to be, or any variation thereof she would consent to. He explained.