Lazarus II (Part One, chapter 1)

I

There are holes in my mind where memories should be, where important details elude me. 

Sometimes I remember. 

Not everything, 

just bits and pieces.

Whole days disappear without warning. Some mornings, I wake up and can't remember the day before. Other times, I'll catch a glimpse of something, a face, a jacket hanging by the door, or the smell of fresh coffee. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of an important memory that's just out of reach. 

My psychiatrist says it's mostly due to my injuries from the accident, but I could also be subconsciously trying to block out memories my brain doesn’t want me to remember. 

I lay on my back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as morning sunlight leaks through the gap in the curtains. 

The ceiling is covered in those glow-in-the-dark stars you might see in a little kid's room; they’re carefully arranged in constellations. Strangely enough, that's the one thing I will never forget. It brings me a small comfort to know that, at the very least, I can remember those silly plastic star formations every night before bed and every morning when I wake up. 

It's one of those mornings when the memories are so close I could reach out and touch them, but they slip through my fingers like sand. I can remember someone lying next to me, a voice, a phrase whispered over and over in my head. “Tell me which constellations you see.”

The voice has no face, no body, and no name. Just a presence, like a ghost of someone who cared enough to stick by me. But this raised more questions: who were they? Where were they now? Why leave me alone?

I groan as my head starts to ache, and I roll over to look at the alarm clock. It's almost noon. I woke up hours ago, but I haven't gotten out of bed yet. 

I sigh and swing my legs over the edge of my bed as I sit up and run a hand over my face. On my nightstand, there's a notebook open to a list. I pick it up and read the foreign yet familiar handwriting. Each bullet point is a simple question anyone should be able to answer with little effort.

Apparently, I’m not anyone.

I close my eyes and whisper the answers to the questions on the page. “My name is Micah Kepler, I’m a spacecraft pilot, I’m in my apartment, today is Wednesday, September 12th, I- I umm…” I stutter as I struggle to remember the answer to the last question. “I was in a test flight accident.”

The notebook is slipped back onto the nightstand, and I press my palms against my eyelids. The ache in my head has turned into a throb; my brain must be working too hard. 

I know this is a migraine; that's another thing I don't forget. The pounding in my head doesn’t let me forget, nor does waking up every morning to a world no bigger than a pinhole. My peripheral vision vanished after the accident. Whether it's from the brain injury or the damage to my eyes, nobody seems to know.

I stand while reaching out with one hand for anything to guide myself through the hall. My other hand clutches at my head as it pounds with every pulse of my heart. My fingertips trail along the wall, counting doorframes by touch. One... two... bathroom.

I take slow steps towards the sink. There is nothing around me to hold onto, nothing to guide my way. 

My eyes try to focus through the pain in my head, and I finally reach the counter. 

Shivering with a cold sweat, my fingers curl around the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold to the touch of my overheating hands. For a fleeting moment, I can almost remember a gentle hand on my back and a whisper, “Remember to take your meds.”

  “I will,” I respond like it’s muscle memory, and at the same time it's a promise I made to this person I can't remember the face of. 

Behind the mirror is my medicine cabinet, where my medication for just about everything wrong with me lives. 

After fumbling around in the cabinet and bringing every orange bottle close to my face to read the labels, I finally find the one for migraines and swallow two pills dry, desperate to make the pain go away. I know I need to eat something, or those pills are just going to come back up, so I begin my slow journey to my kitchen.

There's a sticky note stuck to my fridge telling me not to worry if I run out of groceries because there will be deliveries every Thursday. 

I open the fridge, and my brain immediately tells me I'm not in the mood for any breakfast foods today. I get the feeling that I usually don't eat breakfast anyway. 

I set my sights on the peanut butter and sit down on the couch with the jar and a spoon. 

When the first spoonful hits my tongue, a sharp, brief pain ripples through my head as I hear that same voice laugh and say, “You’re going to turn into peanut butter.” 

Despite the pain in my head, that light, soft laugh was the best thing I remembered today. I must have been close with this person. 

I awoke to the sound of my TV playing the “breaking news” sound. What little vision I have is blurry, and I have to rub my eyes and force them to focus on the screen.

The woman on the TV isn’t a reporter, and she's not a meteorologist warning me about flash floods or strong winds. The woman is dressed in a crisp uniform, her hair tied back in a tight bun, and her eyes so intense they seemed to pierce through the screen. 

A pit forms in my stomach because I know who this woman is. Adrianna Cross was my commander before I got laid off due to my injuries. I remember; she was the most patient person I knew; she had to be. 

She trained my crew, a group of elite astronauts trained specifically to fix the rings around Typhon, of which I had been one of four pilots. Commander Cross had been part of the last group of astronauts sent to Typhon to build the rings over forty years ago.

She had the most distraught look on her face, as her children had just been killed. “Good evening,” she says, clearly trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “As many of you know, the Lazarus was launched about a week and a half ago.” 

I remember now: Lazarus was the ship my crew and I were supposed to take to Typhon if something ever happened to the rings.

If Lazarus launched, that means the rings are in danger of shutting down, or already have. 

Commander Cross takes a deep, shaky breath and continues. “This morning, we lost all communication with the ship,” she swallowed hard like she's holding back tears. “Not long after losing contact with the crew, something in the ship malfunctioned and-” she is cut off by a sob she just can’t hold back anymore. She takes another deep breath and forces out the last words. “Lazarus is gone, the whole crew is presumed dead.” 

The broadcast ends, and the names and photos of the crew appear on screen. One by one, I remember my friends, my crew, and my family. Charlot Reeds was a free-spirited pilot who liked to sing. Alexander Terner was a brilliant botanist who would draw every plant he saw. Gabriel Mercer worked in communications. He was serious but laughed at my jokes.

I remember they were the only ones who came to visit me in the hospital after my accident. And after I got home, too, they would come by for dinners and game nights. Now they are gone.

The last crew member appears on screen. He’s an asian man with dark hair that is a bit wild and unkempt, his expression the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

Then, it's like my body remembers before my mind does. My stomach twists, my eyes sting, and I feel like my chest is being sat on. 

I don’t recognize the man, and yet? I feel like everything is burning down around me. Then his name appears below his photo: Simon Hale – Engineer.

Then, without warning, a sharp pain takes hold of my brain, and I clutch at my head with my hands, shutting my eyes tight. And something unusual happens: instead of forgetting something, I remember.

The kitchen is dark except for the dim light that hangs over the table. The man sits there, his face looking tired as he stares at an envelope. I stand in the doorway as if I'm not sure I’m welcome. “Simon?...” I say softly, and the man looks up.

  “Sorry, Micah, I didn’t mean to wake you…” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “You didn’t,” I responded, crossing the room and sitting down across from him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

I pointed to the envelope in his hand. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing important,” he said, putting the envelope off to the side, face down.

  “Simon…” I rarely ever use my stern voice; it’s usually the other way around, but I can tell Simon is hiding something from me. “That's from Commander Cross; I can see her stamp on the back.”

Simon sighs and rubs his eyes again. “The rings stopped working suddenly… It's like all of the reactors shut off at once.” he takes a shaky breath. “Lazarus has been put into effect.”

  “No...” I know what this means, and I don't want to believe it. 

  “Cross asked me to be the lead engineer on the mission.” Simon finally looks me in the eye. 

  “Tell me you said no…” I say, turning my head and closing my eyes.

  “I can’t just say no, Micah.” Simon reaches across the table and puts a hand on my arm. “This is life or death.”

I pull my arm away and lock eyes with him again. “There’s a team of five other engineers; they don't need you on the mission.”

“They need everyone they can get.”

“Tell them to get someone else.”

“You know that's not how it works, Micah.” His voice is still so soft and calm, but I can tell he's getting frustrated, and yet he remains calm for me. “The world needs me.”

I look away again. “Yeah, well, what if I need you?”

“You don't need me.”

“Yes, I do, Simon.” I raise my voice.

“No, Micah, you don’t need me to take care of you.” His voice was still patient and calm. “You are mostly independent now; you have been for the past year and a half.”

“But if you leave, who will remind me to eat or sleep or take my meds?” 

“I’ll leave sticky notes for you.”

“That's not good enough, Simon!” I'm shouting now, my eyes stinging with tears. I refuse to fall in front of anyone, even Simon. “I need you here.”

“God, Micah! You’re being ridiculous!” Simon shouts back. “Do you know how selfish you sound? The whole world could end if I don’t go, and you wouldn't care as long as I am with you.”

I’m quiet; I've never once heard Simon shout, not at me at least. It took a lot to make him angry, and I had just done it for the first time. 

I have nothing to say in response. I know he's right; I am selfish. I could die happy so long as Simon was there with me. 

I stand, my chair screeching against the floor. It gets hard to see as I walk back into the darkness, away from the table and back to my bedroom, where I lie on my back, staring at the glowing plastic stars on the ceiling, naming each constellation, and trying to calm the fear growing in my chest. 

The worst of it is, I'm more jealous than afraid. Simon and I trained our whole lives for this mission, and were supposed to save the world together. But now, because of my stupid injuries, I’d never even drive a car or ride a bike again. And Simon and the rest of our crew would leave me here alone to go save Earth without me. 

A knock comes at my door, and Simon steps into my room. “Hey...” he says softly.

I just turned away from the door. 

“I'm sorry I yelled.” he sits on the edge of my bed. “I know your migraines disorient you, and you get scared when I'm not there to remind you of things.” 

“I’m not scared.” That's a lie.

“Fine, but I am scared, for you, for me, and for everyone.” He lies down on his back next to me. “If I don’t do this, I’ll never forgive myself.”

I roll back onto my back, my shoulder brushing his.

“You’ll be alright without me,” Simon says, staring up at those plastic constellations. “I can have Commander Cross check on you while I'm gone. I'll leave sticky notes to remind you of things, and I’ll make a list of questions to remind you who you are if you have a bad migraine.” 

“What if something happens to me and there's no one to help?” My voice wavers a bit. 

“You have your emergency button. I can change the emergency contact to Commander Cross so you'll have a familiar face when you wake up.”

I know. I want to believe him; I want to believe I’ll be alright, but the thought of not seeing him every day for the first time in years terrifies me. I just know I’ll feel so alone. But Simon is right. I’m strong; I can do things on my own now, and if I need help, it’ll just be a button click away. I will be alright, and with any luck, Simon will only be gone for a few months.