The Untangling

His head pounded like the thunderous beat of a battering ram attempting to break down a stone wall. Above him the world was covered in haze… or a gauze. He raised his hand, but rough fingers stopped him.

“Lie still.”

He tried to think, to remember where he was. Everything was frosted with a thick fog. “Where?”

“Shhhh.”

His head would not turn.

“You need to rest.”

A grunt left him as he pulled his hand free then reached for his face.

There was a sigh before a hand covered his eyes.

“Ian.”

Ian. The name caused recognition to bloom in his chest. He was Ian. Or he was Ian. His brow knit fast and hard. He was Ian. That must be his name. It felt right. But something in his mind said that it was not. He was not Ian. He was… Warren.

But he couldn’t be Warren because Warren was his... brother? The thought make his stomach twist. He was Ian and Warren was his older brother. That was what his body told him was true. So, why did his mind say otherwise? Why did the very thought cause his insides to feel like a volcano ready to erupt?

He tried to twist to the side, but his head throbbed so hard he wanted to sob. A choked whimper escaped instead.

“I’m sorry.”

The voice was the same as before, familiar and soothing, an herbal tea for a sore throat. “I was hoping you wouldn’t wake before this was done.” The hand slid from his eyes and a sliver of light peaked through the haze. Then a shadow blocked whatever ambient light filled the space they were in. It was circular in form and blurred around the edges. A face maybe. Someone leaning over him? It was hard to tell for there was a wrap of some sort that surrounded his head. He could feel where the edges of the bandage rubbed against his hair.

“How do you feel?”

He blinked, still trying to discern who spoke to him. In the back of his head the name Ian was offered as identification, but that didn’t seem right. Well, it did and didn’t. His mind told him that the voice belonged to Ian, but his heart bulked at that idea. It didn’t sound like Ian. Besides, if he was Ian then the other person couldn’t be Ian. His thoughts were as thick as an engorged bog. The fact that he was getting two separate messages about who he was did not help his confusion.

“Ian?”

He licked his lips, the voice insisting that he was Ian even as his mind continued to tell him he was Warren. His hand rose to pad at the wrapping.

“Let it be.”

The same fingers as before gripped his and this time he clung to them. They were coarse yet full of strength. It felt like… Warren? But it had to be Ian because he was Warren.

He dropped the hand and pushed the bandages from his eyes. Light burned his retinas even though the face still loomed above blocking most of it out. There was another sigh then the figure pulled back.

He groaned, squinting at the bulbs that hung above in three dim clusters.

“Do you know who you are?”

“Ian.” The word came spewing from his mouth as he tried to sit up. “I mean Warren.”

“Easy.” Arms gripped his shoulders and pressed him back down. “You’re not fully healed yet. You’ll break open the incision if you’re not careful.”

He attempted a nod then stopped. Something happened to him. Had he been injured? No, that wasn’t right. He had been with his brother, Warren… or Ian. Either way, they were waiting for their father to return for… something. He couldn’t quite remember what it was. Everything was still fuzzy but it was getting better. The light wasn’t as harsh and there were answers to his questions on the way, but it still didn’t feel right. He didn’t feel right. Things weren’t meshing with what his mind knew and his body felt.

“I don’t remember what happened.” He rolled his head to the side, peering through slits at the figure next to the… bed? Desk? No, it was a table. The surface was not soft enough to be a bed and the room didn’t feel like a home. In fact, it felt damp and smelled musty.

“Where are we?”

The face which now possessed features clear enough to be seen glanced behind him. Short brown hair covered the man’s head and there was no beard or mustache. His eyes when he looked back were dark and full of a sorrow that dwarfed the undercurrent of worry.

“Do you know who you are?”

The question was direct, and for a moment he thought about it. He was Warren. That was what his mind told him was true. But was it?

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the side of head then winced. Just that small amount of pressure sent pain shooting through skull. With a groan he closed his eyes. Even the darkness seemed to spin about him.

“I’m sorry.” The honestly in his words was clear. As was the hope that filled his next few. “Do you know who I am?”

Warren. It was an automatic response that felt right until the name Ian surfaced to contradict it. He bit his lip then exhaled as much of the pain and confusion as he could. Who was this that spoke to him? He stilled his thoughts and tried to breathe out the response. What did he know to be true?

“Warren. You’re name’s Warren.”

A sick feeling bubbled in his gut, his mind instantly telling him that was wrong, that he was Warren, that he spoke to Ian his younger brother, that—

“Yes.”

The single word stilled his thoughts. His eyes cracked open and he glanced at the man next to him. “You’re Warren.”

A wilted smile then a nod. “And you are?”

He focused his thoughts. “Then I must be Ian.”

The smile broadened for a moment then disappeared. “That’s right.”

“I don’t understand what happened. Why am I so confused? Why can’t I remember who I am?” He reached to the side of his head. “Did I fall?”

Warren, for it had to be Warren that stood next to him, looked over his shoulder before responding. “You didn’t fall. Our father…” Once more there was a look over his shoulder. “Our father was conducting an experiment. I don’t know if you remember this but he wanted to see if people could be reprogrammed and if data could be removed and replaced without causing harm or getting diluted.”

Warren glanced behind him again and this time Ian caught the outline of a door with a small red light above it. The light remained steady like an “on” indicator or a sensor on a camera.

A cold chill rippled down his spine and some part of him knew where they were. He couldn’t identify it’s location or why he was afraid to be in this specific room, but they were definitely being watched. Someone outside knew they were here. But where was here and who was out there? Was it their father? Was that why he felt uneasy? The thought sent mixed signals through his body. He loved his father even as a part of him did not. Was it because of what Warren just said?

His gaze returned to Warren who stood silent at his side. “Sorry, I—”

“Did you remember something?”

“No. But I keep feeling like I should call you Ian. I know you’re Warren, but I get almost sick calling you that. Why?”

“Because you were reprogrammed. He did that to both of us, but the chip he used on me wasn’t as sophisticated so it didn’t work. But yours did.”

Reprogrammed. He mulled the word over. If he had been reprogrammed to think he was someone else—like thinking he was his brother—then why did he struggle with both identities?

“But if that’s true, why am I confused? Shouldn’t I just be whoever I was programmed to be?”

Warren’s eyes were on him as if he looked for a sign of some kind. He chewed the inside of his lip then nodded. “Because the chip was removed… I removed it.”

Ian touched the side of his head. That was why he remembered this room. This was where the chip was first implanted. The unsanctioned work their father performed meant that they moved a lot. But this place remained a secure haven that was never found. He could recall being here before.

The ache in his head did not lesson with the knowledge that the chip was no longer there. He didn’t feel any different.

“So the reason I’m confused…”

“Because when the chip was removed the reprogramming ended. You didn’t grow up believing you were Warren so when that information was terminated, those thoughts and memories disappeared. However,” he walked around the table to the other side, “you did spend time believing that you were me, so you’ll still have some memories as me.”

Warren leaned against the table with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry you were caught up in this. It took a lot of planning to undo the programming. Hopefully there won’t be any lasting damage.”

The coarse fiber of the bandages made his forehead and neck sweat. There was a substantial ache that filled the space between his ears and centered on the left side of his temple. He should be grateful to Warren, but the fact that he still felt like Warren made everything hurt worse.

“Ian.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He rotated his gaze to meet Warren’s.

“We should have you checked out to be sure you’re okay.”

He nodded. They should leave, especially if… He glanced at the red light above the door.

“Where’s father?”

Warren followed his gaze. “He’s not here.”

“Is he watching us?”

“No.”

The certainty in Warren’s face betrayed no lie, yet there was something uneasy about his stance. The way Warren held himself, the way his hands remained in his pockets, did not feel right. It was too...

Ian trained his eyes on the camera light then slowly pushed himself upright. His head swam. Blood sloshed in his ears. There was a surge of nauseous that almost caused him to pass out, but Warren’s arms supported him.

“Careful.”

Ian gave a half nod but even that was too much. He pressed a hand to his head and the other to his gut. They needed to leave. If what Warren said was true about removing the chip, then they could not stay here, not where they would be easy to find. His eyes moved to the camera.

“So, who’s watching us?”

“No one.” Warren let his hands fall to his sides. “For now we’re safe.” He did not look at the camera.

Ian studied the solid red light. It didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel like no one was watching.

Warren placed a hand on his shoulder as Ian scooted to the edge of the table then swung his legs off the side. In silence they waited for the world to be stable enough for Ian to stand.

“How do you feel?”

The breath he inhaled was long and deep. It made his sides ache and his head swim. The scent of the room filled his thoughts with sewers and underground bunkers and something else… something akin to rust. He scrunched his nose.

“What is it?”

Warren’s face was a blank slate though his eyes were full of guarded curiosity.

“Nothing.”

He took one step then another. Warren reached out a hand, but Ian waved him away. Something bothered him. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was. It could be the fact that he still struggled to discern where his life as Warren ended and began or the fact that he didn’t know how long he lived his life believing he was Warren. But there was something. It was like the underlying metallic scent in the air, the one that grew the closer he came to the door. He stopped moving.

Warren reached out a hand, but Ian brushed his away.

“Do you smell that?”

Warren’s brow pinched. “Smell what?”

“That smell. It’s like…”

Blood. That was what it smelled like. It was strongest when he faced the area between the door and the wall where all the shelves and cabinets stood. The whole area was cloaked in darkness.

Warren placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “We should go before someone finds us.”

“I thought you said we were safe.” He scanned his brother’s face and for the first time looked at him. The dark eyes were older than he remembered, his face more weathered. Warren’s beardless chin and cheeks were shaved too quick and gray poked through in spots. Did he live as Warren for that long that years passed?

Warren’s hand was wrapped about his forearm. The scent of blood still lingered in his nostrils.

“Where’s father?”

The fingers on his arm grew heavy.

“Warren, where’s father?”

Warren’s lips were sealed, his jaw set.

Ian felt a need to move toward the source of the smell. The thought that Warren may have committed a serious crime was somehow more terrifying than the prospect that their father might be dead. Even confused as he was about who he was, Ian knew that his brother was no killer. Warren never could stomach the thought of hitting back, even when their father did. It was a wonder he ever got enough courage to defy their father’s work.

The grip on his arm tightened.

“Warren, what did you do?”

Warren pressed his lips together then blinked. “What had to be done.”

Ian shook his head. “No. No, I know you. You’re no killer.”

“We should leave.”

“No.” Ian yanked his arm from Warren’s hold, backing up until he could turn around.

“Ian, wait.”

Warren’s steps were heavy on the floor behind him but before he could catch up, Ian tripped over a pile of dark sheets halfway to the shadowed corner.

He dropped hard, rolling onto his side with a pained cry. His knees and wrists ached from the impact, the jostling of his skull making the room spin as he turned to see the dark lump on the floor. In the process of tripping over the dark covering, the tips of pale fingers and a shoe were exposed.

“Don’t.”

Warren grabbed for sheet but Ian pulled it back first. The scent of iron filled the air as the body beneath flopped onto it back.

But it was not the body he expected.

The eyes were familiar though they no longer saw. Now dull, they once gleamed with a lively brown that matched his hair. On the left side of his head, a thick badge of oozing blood clung to his hair and cheek. It complimented the one on his chest while accentuating the drying red that stained the smooth jaw and slack lips.

Warren.

Ian blinked. That couldn’t be right. Warren was next to him, trying to recover the body, to tell him they needed to leave before it was too late.

In a daze, Ian stared at the man that knelt before him.

“Ian, we need to go.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. This was Warren, his brother. But so was the body on the floor. The similarities were too close… except one was older—the living one.

“You’re not Warren are you?” His voice rang hollow between his ears.

Warren’s frown was condescending. “Of course I am, now let’s go.”

“No.” The body on the floor was Warren. He was the right age. He looked like their father, like he always did. Why did he not remember that before? Out of the two of them, Warren inherited their father’s appearance. Which meant…

“You killed him.” The eyes that only moments before gave him a sense of hope now filled him with dread. “You killed your own son.”

The man beside him sat back on his heels, his exhale full of disappointment. “Oh, Ian. He interfered.” He rose then moved to one of the shelves. “By removing that chip, he ruined everything. Years of work wasted. I tried to convince him to tell me where he hid the chip, but he wouldn’t.” Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out something that flashed in the dim light. “I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t let him stop my work. You were a success and I need to know why.” He turned around with a syringe in hand. “You have his chip now and I almost got it reset before you woke up.”

Ian flailed in his attempt to rise. It was as if the ground undulated beneath him. He fumbled onto his hands and knees, climbing to his feet as his father crossed the room then followed him to the door.

But the handle would not turn.

Heat rose in his cheeks, his chest burned from inhaling too fast. He banged on the metal surface.

“You can’t get out. And there’s no one around to hear you.”

Ian glanced at the camera. Someone had to be out there. There had to be someone that would see and put a stop to this. He wasn’t going to loose himself again. He wasn’t going back to that.

“I’m sorry, Ian.”

He spun about now face to face with his father, his jailer—the one that killed his brother for trying to save him.

“I still have plans for you.”

There was a prick and a wash of darkness… then nothing.