Memory Vesting

by Devorah Roberts

Part 1 appears in this issue

conclusion

Leslie returned to her home that evening, another memory shorter. She kept trying to poke at what felt like an empty space in her brain. She had a sense that if she tried just hard enough, she could remember what she had forgotten. Or in this case, given away.

Looking around at her home, everything looked familiar, yet new at the same time. The empty wineglass she had left in the sink last night. The easel and canvas that sat innocently next to the TV, seemed to perk up.

She poured herself a glass of wine first, drained it, and then poured herself another. That seemed to calm the desperation in her brain to remember what she had purposely given. Then, she approached her canvas, blank as ever, but with a palette next to it. She must have taken it out the other day, though she couldn’t pinpoint when.

With a clumsier hand than normal, she grasped the paint brush, and dipped it into a light gray paint. She held it staring at the blank easel, the paint dripping slightly off the brush.

Leslie placed the brush gently back down on the palette. With a growing pit in her stomach, she was struck she couldn’t even remember how to begin.

* * *

The fluorescent lights screamed. Leslie squinted at the coffee percolating today, the liquid soothingly dripping out. It helped to focus on where she was. A pain emanated from her shoulders to her neck, constantly. That was just stress, though. Stress from doing a good job.

Her eyes swiveled to the time on the office microwave. Still 10:05. Not bad. Right? How long had she been standing here? 10:05. There was enough of the morning left still. To get work done. Though she was struggling to remember what that work should be.

The office was emptier these days. People had slowly started to decline the agreement and accept layoffs. She estimated only ten people were left on the executive floor these days, but she couldn’t be certain. Maybe they were working from home. If they all had pain like hers, maybe. Leslie, she couldn’t do that. Alan needed to see where she was. In case he needed something.

“Leslie,” a drawl greeted her.

Leslie was reluctant to look away from the coffee and the clock (10:05 still), but she turned slightly to the left, feeling like she was swimming through mud. A woman looked at her expectantly, and Leslie struggled for a moment, but then: “Sara Jo,” she breathed out, relief crushing through her, as she recognized the pink acrylics and green button down.

Sara Jo’s bitter blue eyes glimmered. “That’s right,” she said. It was almost gentle. “Not many people have been getting names right lately.”

“No, not many at all,” Leslie agreed, though she couldn’t say she had noticed.

Sara Jo glanced down, and Leslie followed her gaze. Sara Jo had picked a pair of black and white checkered kitten heels, topped off with a comically large bow.

She stared down in dismay at her own feet. Despite herself, she began to cry at the sight: bare, crusted in dirt and gravel, bits of blood oozing from one toenail. They were obscene, too large, too exposed.

Sara Jo put a gentle clawed hand on her back. “That’s alright. I have a pair at my desk. Come on now, let’s go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

Sara Jo led Leslie down the hallway; the lights burned into Leslie’s eyes, so she kept her head down, watching her oozing feet move one by one, until they were in the bathroom.

Sara Jo plopped Leslie down and, with a grace and care Leslie didn’t expect, began to wipe Leslie’s feet one by one. Her hands caressed each foot with a paper towel, in a manner Leslie would have expected from a spa. For some reason, more tears burned at Leslie’s eyes.

“Sara Jo,” her voice cracked, “did you... did you take the buyout or the vesting deal?”

“No,” Sara Jo said, “I’m simply waiting for them to fire me.”

“Oh...” Leslie said. “Why?”

Sara Jo shrugged. “I’d rather they tell me I’m expendable to my face.”

“Oh.” Leslie’s chest hurt, tears clouding even more of her vision. “I hope they don’t. I hope they know... just how wonderful you are.”

“Oh, Leslie.” Sara Jo laughed, a bright little tinkle. “I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

* * *

The phone rang insistently. Leslie, numb, picked it up, cradling it in her hand: “Discovery Advertising. This is Leslie.”

An automated voice chirped, “Leslie, it’s time to commit your weekly vesting.”

Chills creeped up Leslie’s spine. She felt frozen in her chair. Her eyes glanced at the date. 12:30. May 7th. She looked down at her feet — bright red stilettos. Sara’s shoes. Sara Jo’s shoes. She had given them to her just this morning. But this morning had been May 4th. She clapped a hand to her mouth, swallowing down bile.

“Leslie, we’ll see you in ten minutes,” the automated voice chirped again. It was a woman’s voice, eerily similar to Leslie’s own, but just slightly off in the way automated answering voices could be.

“Ten minutes, Leslie.”

The phone clicked off and Leslie was left only with the ringtone dial. With great effort, she replaced the phone in its holder. Ten minutes. Leslie stood, each limb seeming to unfurl on its own. Her mouth tasted like acid. She wanted to — no, she needed — to see Sara Jo. She needed her advice.

Leslie clambered across the office, past the empty reception desk, past the empty IT room, and toward the creative team’s lounge. Red armchairs sat unoccupied, bleeding open sores on the office floor. She whipped her head back and forth, searching, searching—

A hand landed on her shoulder and Leslie screamed. “Leslie!” She whirled around and there was only Alan. A face she’d know anywhere, grey hair and kindly brown eyes. “Alan,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m jumpy.”

“I can see that, Les.” He paused, searching her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m just looking for Sara. Sara Jo. I had a work question.”

His face crumpled with regret. “Oh,” he said. “Sara Jo was terminated yesterday.”

Leslie stared, sure she had misheard. “But I have her shoes.”

Alan looked down and Leslie looked with him. The red stilettos sunk into the carpet. “Don’t you remember? She left them for you as a gift.”

Leslie shook her head. No way. Sara Jo would never. They weren’t close like that. But maybe... Alan seemed so certain. She put her face in her hands. Maybe, maybe. She was having trouble keeping track of things, after all.

Alan placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning down. Even with the stilettos, she was still so much shorter than he. “You have your next vesting today, right? Maybe you should take a break after that. You’ve been making some scheduling and spelling mistakes. I think you need a day off.”

“A day off.” The word sang to her. Time to think. To stand still for a moment. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. That sounds lovely.”

“How about after your appointment, you take the rest of the day and tomorrow?” His voice was buttery smooth, soothing her worries.

She stood up straight, wiping the tears away from her face. “Yes, you’re right. I apologize you had to see me like this,” she laughed, wetly.

“Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us. Now come on, you don’t want to be late. You know how much I hate that.”

She nodded fervently. Somehow, she found herself down the hall, to the elevator. She watched as the elevator numbers creeped from 50. Each floor, she repeated to herself, so she didn’t forget: Sara Jo was gone. Sara Jo was gone. Why was she gone? Why would they do that to her? There had been no announcement. Wasn’t there usually an announcement?

She felt herself get angrier; they couldn’t keep doing this to them, striking them off like they were just a row on a sheet. Carving out the office for profit of their own making. This would be it. This would be the last appointment. She would take her money and run and show them. They didn’t know it yet, but they couldn’t live without her.

Ding. Floor 10. Leslie took a deep breath and forced herself down the hall. Each glass door that showed other offices were as empty as Discovery’s, hollowed out just like her own company. Frozen in time, abandoned. The only sound was Sara Jo’s heels clicking on the tile, until they brought her to the only door with no glass on it.

It opened without her, swinging inside. As ever, it was dark, with only the computer light shining. The servers in the room twinkled at her, green and red flickering back and forth. Another deep breath; she squared her shoulders and stepped inside. The door shut behind her, and she was encased with the machines.

“Welcome, Leslie.” The automated voice filled the room, bouncing off every edge.

“Hello,” she said, taking a seat in front of the computer.

“Hello,” her voice echoed back. “Can you tell me what day it is, Leslie?”

“It’s...” Her mouth went dry. She swore she had just heard the day.

“It’s May 9th, Leslie.”

“Yes, of course,” Leslie said.

“Are you ready, Leslie? With this round, you’ll have saved nearly $4,000 already, after only one month of vesting appointments.”

$4,000. Nearly a whole month’s salary.

She repeated to herself: Sara Jo is gone. Then: Who was Sara Jo?

Leslie swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

“We will begin. Please place the pads on your temples.”

Hands shaking, Leslie placed the connected wires onto her temples. They attached, feeling oddly hot. Like the computer had been working too hard. In fact, she touched her forehead and realized she was sweating. All at once, the servers buzzed. They seemed to shake in front of her. Leslie gripped the arms of her chair, as they nearly screamed with rage. For how long they did, she couldn’t say.

The entire room fritzed out at once and the lights flickered out, total darkness enveloping the room. Leslie tried to remember if this was normal. She waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

Perhaps... perhaps that was it, then. She stood, taking the wires off her temples.

Blue light flooded the room, the servers sang to life again, their song piercing through Leslie’s head. The light from the servers radiated out, dancing across the room, until it converged, pixels seemingly stepping out from thin air themselves.

Leslie blinked. And Leslie blinked back. But it was a Leslie more beautiful than the original, face as clear and white as the day. Its lips, painted bright red curved in a manner that Leslie had never seen in the mirror, its hair was coiffed just perfectly so. A red pencil skirt sat snug on its hips, hips that Leslie swore were smaller than her own. The only thing that Leslie recognized were the red stilettos on her own feet.

“Hello, Leslie,” it said, and its voice was delicate and light. “You’ve been such a wonderful, giving employee.”

Leslie stepped back, grasping at the door handle. It wouldn’t even turn.

“Leslie, Alan is so excited you’ll be taking some vacation days soon.”

“Vacation?” Leslie shook her head. “I never take vacation, unless he’s on it.”

“Don’t worry,” it cooed, crossing the room quickly. It placed a cool hand on Leslie’s face, blue eyes gleaming. In the other, it produced a blue pen. “I’ll be here, to take your place.”

“No. No I was going to go home, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” Leslie insisted.

The pen crept closer to her ear. “Don’t worry, Leslie. I’ll take good care of him.”

The last thing Leslie heard was her own laugh.