The Forever Watch by David Ramirez

brain, with the little tinfoil spiderweb of neural Implant poking out of it. A short, pink loop of intestine. Creamy globules of fat. Striated shreds of muscle. Even the bones, even the bones are chopped up; the largest is a few inches long. Most of the stuff that was once his friend is reduced to small particles, a paste, mash. It was like a vast, crude sausage were torn open over the bed.
    The smell, agh, it’s crawling up his nose and down his lungs and into his head through his ears.
    Perverse shit, his stomach is growling, ’cause he was gonna grab something with Cal. He can only think of that butcher shop, the machines in the back, the grinders …
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    When I come to, I’ve bitten bloody arcs into Barrens’s hand. My head is on his lap. He is humming something, a song. I forget the words, but it is about the sea, and islands, the wind.
    He notices and blinks down at me. His shirt is torn. Bloody scratches are on his face.
    â€œTold you it was gonna be bad.”
    When I sit upright, he holds a handkerchief out to me, and I wipe my face clean of snot and tears and spit. “It wasn’t that bad.”
    He barks a choppy laugh.
    Terrible as it was, the content of the memory was not the cause of my violent reaction. The way he sees the world is disjointed in a way I have never felt with any other memory transfer. He has two sets of memories on top of each other. All the time. The part of him that is the cop, the man, experiences the world dully, senses diminished, vision almost color-blind as he peers at everything and tries to make sense of it. The beast or the wolf, it is all senses and raw emotion, awareness of his own body, textures of the cloth against his skin, scents in the nose, the press of air currents against his skin.
    I went mad, scratching and clawing and screaming, not because of secondhand trauma, but because a little of his wolf took me over, for however many minutes it took me to get free of it. It was a nightmare I could not wake from, with something else moving my body, seeing through my eyes.
    He sees it on my face before I can turn away and hide it. What did he see there? I can tell it hurts him. “Oh.” He shies back. “I get it. I’m … uh … Sorry. I was hoping … I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t figure out how.”
    This is why he’s never asked before, what’s kept him behind a wall.
    He looks smaller somehow, and it tugs at me. He is ashamed of scaring me.
    â€œIt’s not like—”
    â€œGuess you’re wondering how I’ve not been Adjusted yet. When a Behavioralist reads me, the part that’s animal knows. It spreads itself thin in the attic, in the basement, deep where nobody goes.”
    Several deep breaths of the musty air. I can taste his blood in my mouth.
    â€œAre you going to call them in on me, Hana?” He looks sad, and faded, childishly disappointed and witheringly aged. This is why he has never been in a relationship, why he never lets anyone close.
    â€œNo! No.”
    We’ve known each other for years, and I was always wondering why he seemed afraid. And now, I know.
    Lick my lips. Put my hands on his rocky hooks. Another step puts my face against his chest. “I was just surprised.”
    â€œYeah. Surprised.” He feels big and solid against me, but his presence is tight, his voice like glass. “I shoulda warned you more.”
    His chin is on top of my head. His arm goes round me; it’s like being hugged by a brick wall. He is frightening and safe, a protector and a savage. I have never met anyone else so alone.
    â€œCan you be okay with this? With me?” He shakes as if he can’t believe I’m still here, and I get it, that for all that he worries about getting caught and getting Adjusted, what he was frightened of was what my reaction would be to him.
    â€œIt’s okay. Listen to me, really listen to me.” I pull back