Unforgettable
Stephen D. Rogers

"So, what does a biologist do exactly?"

Placing my glass of Cabernet on the table, I gave him points for at least feigning interest in my work. "Any number of things. I happen to focus on the theoretical side of the fence."

"You mean like, what if people had three arms?"

This was my first date in four months and Scott was too good- looking to throw back. Despite my field of expertise, I was as susceptible to certain biological drives as the next person.

Too, I was tired of not being able to talk about my accomplishments. There was no reason to expect that he would remember what I said. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"No. I guess my third arm comment was kind of dumb."

Frankly, I had been so in my head that I'd forgotten he was waiting for an answer. Even now I was thinking to myself rather than talking to him. I shook myself back. "Do you have any regrets?"

"Sure doesn't everyone?"

"Not me. They've been erased." I felt a sudden flush, too early for the wine so it must have been the release of talking after years of enforced secrecy.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a woman in my lab who was essentially crippled by the events of her youth. She had been physically and sexually abused by several family members. Even after therapy, her mental wounds would simply not heal."

"That's awful." Scott actually looked concerned.

"We helped her. We erased her memories of what happened. We freed her from her past so that she could become a new person, stronger."

"You mean you suppressed the memories?"

"No. In layman's terms, we cut them out." I took a sip of Cabernet to steady my nerves. I could probably be fired for talking this freely to a stranger. "I specialize in memory, in how the brain stores information. I've broken the codes. I've mastered the filing system. Come to my lab and I'll hunt down the roots of your regret, snip them right out. You'll have no more negative energy weighing you down, at least from that quarter."

"Wow. It makes my job seem dull in comparison."

I signalled the waitress for another round. "The possibilities are endless. All of the ills that rise like a boil from a person's past, I can lance them for once and for all time."

Scott moved his nearly full beer to the side to make room for his new drink. "You're an amazing woman. You know, it's funny, but when I saw you cross the room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"People say that all the time. It's my hair style."

He fiddled with his beer. "I don't seem familiar to you then?"

"No, and I usually don't forget a face."

He shrugged. "Anyway, this woman you helped. Did you ever wonder if it was a mistake? What if you cut out the good with the bad?"

I clenched the edge of the table. "I find it unlikely that being sodomized included very many tender moments."

Scott help up his hands. "That's not what I meant. If this friend of yours had her memory erased, not only is she free from the trauma, but the people responsible are free from justice. She couldn't even testify."

"I'm sure they got their's."

"Also she may have gathered some small grains of wisdom from the experience, like not to be so trusting."

Taking a deep sip of Cabernet, I decided that it was high time to change the subject. "So what do you do again?"

"I'm a police officer."

"Oh? And what does a police officer do exactly?"

He smiled. "All sorts of things. Myself, I investigate murders."

I must have been drunk too much too quickly as my right temple suddenly started to throb. "Our jobs are similar."

"How so?"

"We both make the world a better place."

Scott raised his beer and drank. "Are you feeling all right?"

"It will pass."

"I imagine it's dangerous to mess with people's brains. How can you be certain that there won't be complications? They say that nature abhors a vacuum."

My head was pounding. "I know what I'm doing. I'm a scientist. I probably shouldn't even be telling you these things."

"Like about your friend with the past."

"Right." I suddenly realized his eyes were sad.

He nodded. "Let me talk about my job then. I'm working on a very delicate case. Several members of a family have been killed and the most likely suspect isn't aware that she's guilty. She's smart all right, didn't leave any physical evidence, but there's
certainly motive. We'll find the proof eventually."

I placed my hands in my lap, listening.

"Many would consider the murders justifiable. Why not commit the crimes? No memory means no guilt, no remorse, no beating of a tell-tale heart. People kill every day with the belief that no one will find out. Imagine knowing that not even you would be aware of what you had done."

"Do you enjoy police work?"

"Sometimes." He sighed. "We've spoken before, you and I. Several times in fact." Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out some money and left it on the table. "I'm sure we'll talk again, and you probably won't remember me then either. It's unfortunate."

