""Echoes of Deception".

The Memory Collector

I’ve always had a fantastic memory. Clear as crystal, sharp as a scalpel, 100 per cent accurate. Favourite moments are etched indelibly in my mind, every detail imprinted indistinguishably from the next. It’s both a blessing and a curse, really. All those smiles preserved in their full glory, but heaven knows all those humiliations and heartaches and calamities are all there too, preserved in their full glory as well. I sometimes wonder if forgetting wasn’t itself some kind of mercy.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Evelyn Mercer and, if your news feed is anything like mine, you’ve heard my name a lot lately. All the rumours, all the salacious speculation, and the worst film of the year. I’ve read them all – every article, every gruesome true-crime podcast, and that awful TV movie. None of them told the truth. How could they? I’m the only one who knows what really happened that summer at Lakeview Manor. The only one left, anyway.

It was simply meant to be a reunion of college friends. One last fling before real life began to bite. Six of us pooled our resources to take over Catherine’s family home for the long Bank Holiday weekend. There was Catherine and James, of course, and there was Olivia and Michael and Daniel. People drift apart over the years, that’s the way things go. But that was history, wasn’t it? Shared history.

I recall that drive up to the manor so clearly. The windy country lane and the dappled sunlight through the trees. The aroma of pine and late summer flowers fanned through my open window. I was always the first to arrive. Catherine was at the door, her smile and hugs welcoming.

‘Evelyn! Holy shit, it’s been forever,’ she said as she pulled me into the house. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

I laughed. "Liar. But you're sweet to say so."

Catherine’s laugh bounced off the high, empty foyer. ‘That’s the old Evelyn all over. Not a shadow of regret! Come on, I’ll show you to your room. The others should be here soon.’

As we ascended the sweeping staircase, I admired the opulence of Lakeview Manor. The floors were gleaming hardwood, every wall lined with precious artwork, and there were antiques all over the place this family could open their own museum. Catherine came from old money, which is one of those oxymoron's – like military intelligence or jumbo shrimp – that rings true because it seems impossible.

How do you feel about it now that you’ve seen it?’ ‘Just as I remembered it,’ I said, running my hand over the burnished banister.

Catherine caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been here before?

I blink. ‘It’s obviously not,’ I say. ‘Or did you forget? That spring break sophomore year?’

She shook her head, or rather, laughed. ‘I’m sure it must have slipped my mind. It was long ago after all.’

But although it was unlike her to forget, she had always had a perfect memory, nearly as good as mine, and I put it out of my mind, after all people change, memories fade and mine would never do that, of course, not this one.

The others soon followed. James is still unfeasibly handsome, though the hair at his temples is now silvery. Olivia is glamorous with the minimum of effort. Michael looked a little heavier than I’d imagined, but still boyish. Daniel. Daniel Moore was always the odd-man-out at our gatherings, but Catherine had insisted he be included. Daniel was Daniel: quiet, intense, watching.

That first evening was lovely. We sat in the parlour, sipping expensive wine and trading stories. It felt like old times. My mother and I laughed and reminisced, the years falling away as though meant for an eternity together.

You know, when we broke into the dean’s office and took his pens and gavearten?’ ‘W crayons?’ Bing his eyes with the

I frowned. "That wasn't us. "Those were the Phi Kappa guys, remember?"

James gave me a funny look. ‘No; I think it was us. You were the lookout, Evelyn.’

‘I would remember something like that,’ I said defensively, ‘I have a really good memory.’

‘Wonderful. We get that. We know. You’ve told us a million times tonight.’ Olivia cut her off. ‘A dozen,’ she said.

Had I? No, I didn’t think so, but maybe the wine was getting to me more than I realised. I sat in silence, my glass clutched tightly, half-listening to the conversation swirling around me. 

And as the hours passed, I began to feel distinctly ill at ease. Something… amiss. And yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. Why did all these other people keep their eyes on mine, when they thought I wasn’t looking? Why did every time I walked in on a group, a conversation seemed to be cut short? All these memories – so many conflicting memories!

I pulled Catherine aside in the kitchen while she was fetching more wine. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Why is everyone acting weird?

She signed, and put down the bottle. ‘Evelyn,’ she said, ‘we got worried about you. These are the stories you’re telling us. They did not happen.’

I stared at her, unable to comprehend. "What are you talking about?"

‘The spring break here? The week we all went skydiving? We signed a blood vow at the end of senior year. None of that schlock, Evelyn. We’ve been playing pretend but…’ She trailed off, squirming.

"That's ridiculous," I sputtered. "I remember it all perfectly. Every detail."

Catherine’s face melted. ‘I know, sweetheart. I know you think you do. But, honey, that’s the problem. Your memory… it isn’t what you think it is.’

I stormed out of the kitchen. I was in shock. They were manipulating me. Doing it on purpose. Of course they were. I remembered everything. Right?

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Memory snapshots looped through my mind, but now I doubted each one. Was that real? Or another fabrication?

Somewhere along the way, I must have drifted off, and when my chest tightened and I sat up with a gasp, it was because my dream had been interrupted by a scream. I stumbled outside into the hallway, where everyone else was already congregated, huddled near the top of the stairs.

"What happened?" I asked, pushing through to see.

Catherine was dead and sprawled at the foot of the stairs, her neck at an unnatural angle, her eyes staring up at nothing.

"She's dead," Olivia whispered, her voice shaking.

‘I heard voices,’ Michael said. ‘An argument. Then a scream, and…’ His head swept across Catherine’s broken body.

Everyone looked at me. I took a step back, without meaning to. ‘You think… that I.. did not…’

"Where were you just now, Evelyn?" James asked, his voice gentle but firm.

I was in my room. Asleep. I got up when I heard the yell, like you all did.

But I’d already uttered it, and already I felt a shudder of uncertainty. Had I really been in my room? Yes, I’d been in my room, I was absolutely certain I’d been in my room, but then again… I’d also been very sure about being at the top of the stairs with my hands on Catherine’s back, pushing her.

No. No, that couldn't be right.

The next few hours are a bit of a haze. The police arrive. They ask their questions. I answer the best I can, but I find myself mixing up details. When I need it most, there is a flaw in my perfect memory.

By dawn, we were all back in the parlour. The police had gone, with Catherine’s body. They’d come back; of course they would; they’d have more questions.

"We need to talk about Evelyn," James said, his voice low.

‘I’m right here,’ I yelled. ‘If you have something to say to me, say it to my face.’

‘You are ill, Evelyn, and it is time for you to seek professional assistance.’ He signed heavily and rubbed his temples. ‘This … condition of yours. It is getting worse.

"What condition? There's nothing wrong with me!"

Olivia put a withering hand on my arm. I yanked it away. ‘Evelyn… darling, you confabulate. It’s a memory disorder. You have false memories, but you think they’re true. We’ve all been trying to help you for so long, but…’

I shook my head violently. "No. No, you're lying. You're all lying!"

‘You see,’ Michael said softly. ‘All those amazing things you tell me about: the travelling, the exploits, the triumphs. You don’t think that it’s a bit… hyperbole?’

To argue, to fight back, but I could not. The poison of doubt spread. If this was so, what was left of what I remembered? Nothing.

"Catherine," I said slowly. "Did I... did I push her?"

The others were all looking at one another. ‘We don’t know,’ James said at last. ‘But you were quarrelling with her just now. Over your memories.

I snapped back in my chair, my universe receding away.

‘I don’t … I can’t …’

It’s OK.’

‘We’re going to get you some help. Real help. I mean this time.’ Olivia.

But when I glanced over at their anxious expressions, another memory thrust itself forward. I was back in this very room, listening in. A low, anxious voice that I knew could only belong to Catherine flashed across my mind’s eye. ‘We’ve got to do something. Something quick. Evelyn knows too much. If she remembers…

And then it all made sense: why Catherine’s ‘accident’ had happened, the multiple versions of events, the gaslighting – it wasn’t me who was confused; they were trying to make me doubt myself, to discredit me before I could expose their illicit activity.

I stood up abruptly. "I need some air," I mumbled, heading for the door. 

Nobody stopped me. They thought they had won. That they broke me. But I knew now. It wasn’t my memory that was failing me. It was the very way to take them down.

As a wave of relief overcame me in the chilly January morning, I couldn’t help but smile slightly. They had no idea. I’ll play along for now, I thought. They think they won. But I’ll gather evidence and then I’ll strike. I’ll reveal them all.

After all, I have an exceptional memory. I also remember everything.