CHAPTER 12 — Remember

FAINT — PART III  ⸻

Twenty-seven years ago, a knock echoed through a small home in F-Class District 2.

Knock. Knock.

A man in a trench coat and fedora stood at the door, briefcase in hand. Six-year-old Daley clutched his fingers, restless.

Inside, the man removed his hat.

Daley ran past him.

“Grandpa!!”

His grandfather looked up from the couch, newspaper folding.

“Oh—! Come here, boy!”

Daley jumped into his arms.

“You’ve grown into a soldier—look at you.”

Behind them stood Daley’s father. He looked like Daley, only younger, no facial hair.

“How’s Mom?”

Daley sat on his grandfather’s lap, tracing his hands.

“Her memory’s worsened,” his grandfather said.

“We’ve tried everything.”

Daley’s father’s expression hardened.

“But have you, Dad?”

“She’s here because you’re—”

“—fighting something you won’t let go of.”

His grandfather’s eyes lowered.

“Have you given up… like the rest?”

Daley stayed between them.

“We’re not doing this in front of the boy,” his father said.

He turned to the door.

“When I return from Mariyet—”

“I’ll be taking Mom.”

A vein rose in his grandfather’s cheek. Daley tugged at his coat.

“You’ve forgotten where you’re from, boy,” his grandfather said.

“The government doesn’t need you.”

The door slammed.

⸻

Twenty-three years ago.

Daley stood alone, staring at a framed photo.

“Dad…”

He set it down. In the family picture, everyone smiled.

His father didn’t.

⸻

Daley walked the hallway, hands in his jacket pockets.

“Grandma… it’s time for your medicine.”

The door creaked open.

Empty.

The bed was made. The windows barricaded.

Daley stopped.

“Grandma…?”

He rushed into his room.

“Not again!”

“She— she was just here!”

He ran outside, slipping in the snow.

“What the hell—?” someone shouted.

Daley ran through District 2, small against the streets.

She forgot—!

⸻

A construction worker glared down at her.

“I told you, lady—I don’t know where your—”

“—husband is. Stop bothering me.”

He turned away, shoveling snow.

Behind him, she hesitated.

“Why won’t you help me?”

“Could you at least tell me how to get home?”

He snapped upright.

““Lady—stop.”

“I don’t know you.”

She flinched.

“Oh…”

“You’re very rude, young man.”

She walked away.

⸻

“E-Extra! Extra!”

“Another continent liberated!”

A thin newsboy stood beside a rusted clock pole.

She tugged his sleeve.

“Excuse me, dear…”

“Could you help me?”

“Uh…?”

Inside the apple shop, two owners watched.

“Wait…”

“Isn’t that the old woman who took an apple the other day?”

A stomach growled.

She cupped the boy’s cheek.

“I—I can’t…”

“I’m not s’posed to leave…”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” she said.

“You’re very kind.”

One shop owner stiffened.

⸻

A memory.

One-year-old Daley laughed on the floor, a pacifier in his mouth.

His grandmother read beside him.

A Boy and His Rubber Arms.

⸻

The apple shop froze.

“Huh—?!”

She reached into the crate and bit into an apple.

Juice ran down her fingers.

“…Delicious.”

⸻

The shop owners looked at each other.

One pale.

One burning.

A fist tightened.

Black.

Silence.

⸻

Daley turned in place, searching.

She came back…?

He ran.

“Grandma—!”

⸻

She lay unconscious on the pavement, fingers loosening around the apple.

The crowd stared.

One apple seller looked almost satisfied.

The other looked away.

The porridge shop owner stood frozen.

“What happened?”

“Did someone do this?”

“Anyone know who she is?”

⸻

Daley pushed through.

“Excuse me—!”

He stopped.

To one side, the porridge merchant.

To the other, the apple sellers.

One smiled.

“Grandma…?”

⸻

Inside the porridge shop, untouched.

Two bowls steamed.

⸻

TO BE CONTINUED.