The Peculiar Journey of Lauren Barnes, Installment Three.

[TheSpotConlon]

Fighting through the writer's block on this one, folks. I'm glad I'm done with this installment, as maybe a fresh start will allow for an easier passage. Thanks to Xandimouse, General, robotman, Rynchan, and all the other writers whom I read to inspire during this installment. Anyway, criticism/praise/whatever is welcome as always. And away we go. . .

Installment Three: Curiouser and Curiouser.

I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that I was restless, or that I had a full night in me; I found I was physically unable to rest. I bounced away from REM, my body rebelling against any forward movement. Maybe this was a side effect of whatever caused the memory loss, or maybe the sleep loss caused the amnesia itself. I had a feeling that they were tied together somehow.

Eight in the morning, and I was up and wandering around the room. I wasn’t supposed to check in until ten; I guess it was lucky that I had an Advisor who kept similar hours. To pass the time I indexed my bag, pouring over each item to discern its place in my forgotten life. A jersey from the KC Royals, emblazoned with the name “Jackson.” I would have to find out who that is. A few books: The Bible, Harry Potter & The Secret of the Monarch, The Bourne Supremacy. It didn’t look like I had broken the bindings on any of them. A diary, filled with fragments and signals which probably meant a lot to the girl who wrote them. It had been all of twelve hours that I had been cognizant of my situation, but I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever return to being her.

Eight-thirty my time. It was already midday in Frankfurt, but Hristopher Jonas Quint was making a late start to his routine. Still shaken from a bumpy plane ride out of LAX and a killer bout of jetlag, Quint signed on to his workstation to check the progress of his prized AI. Given the immense amount of pride he had invested in his work on the project, it’s only understandable that he was in an abject state of shock when he found that one of its hard drives had failed. Lauren Barnes’ long-term memory, as it was, didn’t exist. According to his readings, she had access to all of two percent of her total knowledge base. According to his gut, he was about to get fired. Typing faster than any programmer since the days of DOS-Based hacking, Hristopher quickly set up a link to the Lauren unit’s wireless card, which he was extremely happy he had installed, to begin streaming the backup contents of the lost hard drive directly to her. This was only a temporary fix, though; he would have to find a way to replace the faulty component with a new one. There was a man in Nagano who might be able to help him, but Hristopher wasn’t sure that he’d be happy about it. . .

* * *

Eight-thirty five. It hits me like a bolt out of the blue. I drop to my knees from the pain; it feels like someone’s trying to rip my head open. I want to scream, but I caution myself against garnering undue attention this early in the school year. After all, without any memory there was no way that I would be able to explain myself. The pain rippled through my mind for another few seconds, and then something extraordinary happened: it began to form itself into thoughts. Memories, actually; my memories. It wasn’t anything concrete, but rather quick flashes of several different events, each one sexual in nature. My first masturbatory experience, the night I had lost my virginity, a rather embarrassing encounter in a porn shop in Kansas City. Somehow, this was part of my memory that I didn’t feel I needed right away. I’d much rather be able to remember my parents, or where I went to high school, or my bank account number. I was rather surprised, then, when I bolted up to lock the door. Before I knew it, my shirt was off and I was fiddling with my bra. It dropped to the floor, along with all the rest of my clothes, before I had any time to process what was happening. All of a sudden, I was naked and clueless again.

I threw myself against the chair, but I missed it and slammed hard to the floor. I hardly noticed; my hands were too busy pulling themselves up and down my body. The touch of my fingers against my breasts was almost too much to bear. I was in heat, no doubt about it. My hands strayed across my bust, down to my navel, working inexorably down towards my quivering quim. My newly found memories told me that I was experienced in these ways, but everything felt so new and so fresh, as if I had only been awakened at this moment. I would have killed for the touch of someone, anyone who could share in this moment, but the early hour and my state mandated that I continue to go at it alone. My fingers were providing the only pleasure I had felt since I had woken in the hotel, darting in and out of my sex with alarming dexterity. I must have approached orgasm five or six times before I finally climaxed. I had found at least one of my specialties.

A sigh. Body in motion, relaxing. Legs stretching on carpet. Hands through hair. Eyes blinking.

A light. Blinding blue flashes in my eyes. I convulsed, torn apart by a pain much worse than what had passed. I tried to reach for something to kill the pain, but my vision was gone. There was no choice but to wait and hope that this wasn’t a permanent hell.

Somewhere in Frankfurt, Quint’s wireless connection had gone on the fritz. He had tried to shove too many programs down the pike at once; even with all of the recent breakthroughs in computer technology, there were still limits. He cursed in at least three languages, knowing full well that the unit would lose all of the recently uploaded files, and that a manual fix was now the only solution.

I wasn’t aware of any of this, and if you had tried to involve me in any of the details I would have rejected them outright. I didn’t want to hear any sort of technical jargon; I just wanted to know where my memories had gone. Even the ones which had only recently entered my brain had now dissipated, leaving me only with the tactile sensations of my sexual life. I would cling to this dearly, as it was all I had besides my name and one fleeting memory of that man in front of the radio.

Nine o’clock. Fully dressed and still pacing, I attempted to listen again to my iPod, try to drag up some recollection, even though I was losing any hope of regaining who I was.

It’s the same as today
Just to stop and say
How long have you been back?
Tried to hold on for dreamin’
Tried so hard to be seemin’
Not to say it’s not okay for you to see me
Now my face hurts from smilin’
When I should have been cryin’
Everyday, it’s not okay; don’t take it easy.

Emptyness and pain. Without our memories, we are nothing. I couldn’t even claim Lawrence, Kansas; without any recollection of the place, it was like I had never been there. All I could be was Lauren Barnes, a name with a body, but without a face.

* * *

Nine o’clock. I find that I’ve zoned out. At least the nightmares hadn’t returned. Awoken from my stupor by knocking, two loud raps are all it took to raise me from my bed and to the door. On the other side was a stunner of a girl. Dark, unplaceable, foreboding. Leather jacket and jeans. I fell in love on the spot, even before she uttered her first words to me. “Are you Lauren?”

“More or less.”

She stuck out her hand. She had the long, slender fingers of a musician, but not a single ounce of wear on them. She could have been birthed that afternoon for all of the wear and tear she showed. “I’m Carolyn. I guess I’m your new roomie.”

She was a sweetheart. The daughter of a Japanese banker and an Italian housewife, she hailed from New York City. Okay, well not exactly from New York City itself, but rather from a town called Garrison which was “close enough.” She had come out to SCULA to study film; otherwise, she said, “there’s no way I’d be in LA.” She played guitar in a band back home, had a big thing for Gordo from Lizzie McGuire when she was younger, and “didn’t eat. Ever.”

Then she asked about me. I produced the contents of my bag, and told her exactly what had happened since last night. I sorta glossed over the part where I fucked myself, though.

“Nothing?”

“I’m a big X, Carolyn.”

“Well, we’re going to have to do something about that, won’t we?”

I knew I was going to like this girl.

[A.N.N.]

Ah, a new character. Is she an agent or a bystanding human? I wonder.

[DollSpace]

Another awesome installment; please, keep the updates frequent!

And thanks for the compliment, too! ^^

Ryn

[TheSpotConlon]

Thanks, guys. I guess this installment isn't very popular, but there's another one on the way soon. I hope to have it up by Wednesday night.

[xandimouse]

I never thought i was inspiring, but you're welcome.

I absolutely LOVE the development of this story.
I think i check the board every day for a new one.

the style is awesome too!
(But i think i've said that before )

~xm