Part 2The Memory Thief: Kill to Remember

Unexpectedly, my sorrow vanished rather quickly. What lingered, however, was the disgust. And simultaneously, I realized something unique about myself. When I was little, I dared not speak of it; as I grew, I simply chose not to. It wasn't until I was much older that I truly grasped the full implications of this ability.

In middle school, Chloe, the girl from next door, and I were in the same class and incredibly close. We walked to and from school together, inseparable, even going to the restroom in tandem. Our teachers jokingly called us conjoined twins.

Chloe wasn't exactly kind, but she was beautiful, far prettier than me. Sometimes I'd overhear whispers: "There's the princess and her little sidekick." I didn't really care, but Chloe always seemed to bask in it. I figured that was one of the reasons we were such good friends. No one likes to be outshone, especially by someone they're close to. Chloe enjoyed feeling superior to me, and in a way, that proved she genuinely considered me a close friend.

I was incredibly good to Chloe, so much so that she became quite dependent on me. Her grades were always better than mine, except for Math. So I always did her Math homework for her, meticulously neat. During regular quizzes, I, being the Math class monitor, would help Ms. Davis grade papers in the office. And whenever I did, I'd secretly correct a few of Chloe's mistakes, bumping up her score.

Until one day, Ms. Davis found out.

Ms. Davis didn't scold me for altering the grades; instead, she laid into Chloe. Ms. Davis had always disliked Chloe's pretty, fashion-conscious demeanor, and her poor Math grades only fueled that disdain. "All day long, your mind is on anything but your studies, always plotting these sneaky little tricks!" she snapped. "Girls like you will never amount to anything more than a pretty face."

Chloe's eyes immediately welled up. With a loud thump, she shoved her desk aside and bolted out of the classroom. Ms. Davis initially scoffed, but when Chloe didn't return, a flicker of worry crossed her face, fearing something might have happened. After teaching for a bit, she couldn't contain herself and asked me to go check on Chloe.

I knew exactly where Chloe would be. She'd be in the janitor's closet next to the third-floor staff lounge. Whenever Chloe was upset, she'd retreat into that tiny space. I quietly pushed open the closet door, squeezed inside, and huddled beside Chloe. Chloe didn't look at me, and I didn't look at her. I knew her. She didn't want me to see her looking so vulnerable.

After a while, Chloe spoke. "I hate Ms. Davis," she mumbled.

"Neither do I," I said, feeling a perverse satisfaction.

My childish solidarity made her crack a small smile. "Let's go back," she said.

"Okay."

Chloe and my friendship grew even stronger. But sometimes, you just had to admit it: academic ability truly was a matter of innate talent. I tried, I really did, but when it came to studies, I simply had no knack for it. Chloe and I spent every day together, dedicating almost the same amount of time to studying. Yet Chloe's grades kept improving, steadily rising in every subject, even her Math was quickly catching up to mine. Sometimes she'd offer to tutor me, but I just couldn't grasp it. My mother often compared me to Chloe, and I hated disappointing her. I only had my mother left.

Watching my grades stagnate, I grew increasingly anxious. A vague, dark idea began to coalesce in my mind.

What if I killed Chloe?

If I killed Chloe, I would gain all her middle school memories – three years of them. Some thoughts are like persistent weeds; once they sprout in your mind, they refuse to be uprooted. I had a plan.

Just last year, the school had installed new air conditioning units; they worked incredibly well. Many older students would joke bitterly that the school only installed AC after they'd graduated. Chloe was quite short, always sitting in the first or second row, while I sat in the fifth or sixth. As summer approached, the school gradually switched on the air conditioning. I'd often complain about the heat, then during breaks, I'd stroll over to Chloe's desk. While chatting with her, I'd casually crank the AC to 16 degrees Celsius on full blast. The moment the bell rang, I'd leave. Sometimes Chloe would remember to turn it back, sometimes she wouldn't. So Chloe often sat through an entire class session blasted by cold air.

Just a few days prior, Chloe and I had gone shopping downtown. I mentioned my mother had told me to stock up on cold medicine and asked if she needed any.

"Cold medicine in the middle of summer? What for?" she'd asked.

"My mom says I'm constantly in air-conditioned rooms at home and school, but then I'm out in the heat sweating. The drastic temperature changes make it easy to catch a cold, so she told me to get some meds just in case."

Chloe hesitated, then agreed it made sense, and bought the same medicine as me. When I saw Chloe blowing her nose and complaining of a headache, I knew my chance had come.

That afternoon after school, Chloe and I walked home together, as usual. "Let's sit by the riverside park for a bit," I suggested. We often stopped there after school to relax and chat, so it wasn't unusual. I pulled Chloe along, deliberately guiding her to a spot within view of the nearby convenience store's surveillance cameras.

I told Chloe to open her backpack. She unzipped it to find two bottles of alcohol, and they looked pretty potent. She pulled the bottles out. "Ta-da! A surprise for you!" she exclaimed. "We're almost high schoolers. Don't you want to try it?"

I turned slightly, letting my hair fall forward to obscure my mouth. I knew Chloe well. Beneath her compliant facade, she harbored a streak of rebellion. Chloe's parents were always quite strict with her. She secretly yearned for something wild, something transgressive, but she'd never had the opportunity.

Chloe held the bottles, then handed one to me. I turned, feigning sudden apprehension, a flicker of regret. I waved my hand. "Maybe we shouldn't? Chloe, won't your mom and dad be mad?"

Hearing that, Chloe's resolve only stiffened. "It's fine! Just one sip!"

I maintained my hesitant expression until Chloe forcefully pressed a bottle into my hand.

We talked for hours. We discussed recent exams, our futures, our detested Math teacher, and the breathtaking sunset. She apologized to me. She said sometimes she couldn't help but treat me like her little sidekick. She said I was her best friend, that I always would be. I said, "Yes."

Seeing that it was getting late, I patted Chloe's shoulder and suggested we head home. I hadn't actually drunk much; every time I raised the bottle, it was just a tiny sip. Chloe, however, seemed quite tipsy, struggling to get to her feet.

I'd done my research: Chloe's mother was working late shifts all week, and her father had the night shift. Chloe would be home alone. I looked at Chloe.

"Bye, Chloe."

"See you tomorrow."

"Oh, and one more thing." I smiled, meeting her eyes. "You've got a bit of a cold coming on. Remember to take your cold medicine when you get home."

Chloe smiled and nodded, her eyes, in the fading light of the sunset, held a gentle, flickering flame. I calmly returned home, ate dinner with my mother, and finished my homework as usual. Then I drifted peacefully into sleep.

The next morning, a sharp pain shot through my head. I found my mind suddenly crowded with new memories. I knew. I had succeeded.