Reforged

“Oh, come on, people, we can all make it.” Emma huffed anxiously as the cars before her moved at a snail’s pace through the green light.

“Noooo!” She groaned, slamming on the break as the light turned red. She leaned against the headrest and sighed, “Whatever, at least I’ve never been late before.” Emma glared out the windshield at all the cars lazily weaving back and forth as if everyone had ganged up on her.

“Sorry, everyone. Traffic was terrible!” Emma exclaimed as she hustled into the office and threw her stuff down. She looked in her manager’s direction with trepidation.

“Emma! Don’t even worry about it; traffic is out of your control. We were just discussing the pitch for later today. The client is very excited. Did you want to take the lead on the presentation?” Trish, the team lead, looked at her with a bright, expectant smile.

“Oh, uh-” Emma stammered as she pulled her coat off. “Sure, that would be great!” Her palms went clammy as she hung her jacket over the chair, but she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to impress.

“Great!” Trish said as she turned and sashayed back into her office.

Emma turned back and scanned her coworkers’ confused faces.

“Damn, she’s in a good mood. She ripped into me when I got stuck in traffic last week.” Dan said, rolling his eyes and glaring in Trish’s direction.

“To be fair, Dan, you have a habit of oversleeping.” Another coworker, Lucy, said with a raised eyebrow.

“Not everyone wakes up looking perfect, Lucy; some of us need our beauty sleep!” Dan smirked back, and everyone laughed, the tension broken.

Emma went to work the next day feeling refreshed and proud of how her presentation went. She walked into the office five minutes early, beaming.

“Morning, Em. No traffic today, I see?” Lucy asked with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re here early. I figured you’re making up for being a little late yesterday.”

Lucy’s phone rang before Emma could respond.

Emma furrowed her brow as she thought back to yesterday. “She must be confused with someone else,” Emma told herself as she sat down.

“Confused about what?”

Emma jumped as Trish appeared behind her.

“Oh, Lucy thought I was late yesterday, she must be thinking of something else.”

Trish bent back and laughed, “Yes, of course. You’re the only one with a perfect record.”

Emma felt satisfied by the answer, but the excessive praise when she was still so new felt bizarre.

The shrill ringtone broke through the silence as Emma drove home, lost in thought. She glanced at the number on the hands-free display: “Unknown,” it said, but the area code was local. She reached up and swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey Em, what are you doing this weekend? Did you wanna catch that new horror movie?”

Emma paused. “Sorry, who is this?”

The line was silent for a moment. “It’s Mandy. Did you lose my number?”

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong number!”

“No, I def-” she quickly reached up to end the call, ignoring the eerie feeling that settled in her gut.

Emma sank into the couch and switched on the TV, hoping to wind down from the odd day. After a few minutes of mindless browsing, she gave in to the feeling of restlessness and stood up.

“The office is in desperate need of reorganizing. Maybe that’ll make me feel better,” she mumbled as she started a playlist and got to work.

Ten minutes into the job, she pulled the large horse painting off the wall to dust behind it. She jumped as a folded piece of paper landed at her feet. Setting down the heavy artwork, she gingerly picked up the slip and read:

Trust no one, nothing is real, check the photos.

Emma may have written this off as a prank if the note wasn’t in her handwriting. No matter how hard she wracked her brain, she could conjure no recollection of leaving this.

Check the photos.

Stuffing the note in her pocket, Emma ran downstairs and dug up her box of old photo albums. The damp, musty air was already in her nose, and she blew the dust off the top one. She flipped through the pages quickly. Her heart pounded harder with each new photo she saw, many of them filled with faces she didn’t recognize. Finally, she pulled one out that featured her and another girl, teenagers, smiling as they hugged.

Turning it over, it felt like a lightning bolt of ice cracked on her spine as she read the inscription:

Emma and Mandy, Jumping Bear Summer Camp, 2003.

Mandy. Mandy called me today. She thought, fear creeping in like a shadow, encroaching on all her senses as she looked over her shoulder, suddenly expecting someone to snatch her up.

Emma carefully folded the photo and slipped it into her back pocket before replacing the box and hurrying upstairs.

She thought through the day’s events as she anxiously made dinner. She hadn’t been in an accident, she hadn’t been sick - nothing that would cause memory loss or brain damage. The disbelief was like a heavy weight in the back of her mind, but she had to believe this was some sort of elaborate trick.

Just in case, she slipped the note and photo under the loose floor board in her kitchen before heading to bed early for a restless, fitful sleep.

Emma woke the following day to the usual greeting of her gentle alarm and a sliver of sunlight poking through the curtains. She rose, stretched, and smiled. Ah, Friday. Can’t wait to see everyone tonight.

She thought warmly of her newly found group of fun-loving friends. While their Friday outings were usually the same- meet for dinner, have a couple drinks, and find something to do until late- it was never dull with the right people.

“Emma! Yay! So glad you made it!” Emma smiled as Gracie ran up and hugged her. Though she could not relate to Gracie’s constant enthusiasm, she never grew tired of the happy greeting.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m a little late. I had to wrap up a big project at work.”

“How are things over at the new job?” Asked Ethan as she settled into the booth.

“Oh, pretty good! Still figuring everything out, but I’m enjoying it.”

“Yeah, Trish tells me you’re killing it; the clients love you.” Ethan smiled, “I’m so glad that all worked out - I knew Trish would want to hire you the second she met you. You’re a much better version of the hack they let go.”

Emma was still smiling as she returned home after another successful night out. Her phone buzzed just as she locked the door behind her. Furrowing her brow, she wondered who would text her so late. Maybe one of them forgot something in my car.

The phone number at the top of the screen told her it was someone she didn’t know, though it looked local:

Emma, can you tell me what’s going on? I tried to drop by, but you moved!! Did I do something wrong?

Emma chuckled, “That’s a coincidence, a wrong number with my name.”

Hey, sorry, I think you have the wrong number, she shot back before silencing her phone and getting ready for bed.

She woke up the following day to several frantic texts from the previous night’s wrong number, insisting she was the Emma they needed and begging her for “answers.”

“Oh my goodness, can people not?” Emma mumbled as she put on some coffee and clicked on the computer for a reverse look-up.

Mandy Florence.

“Well, she does live around here,” she said aloud as she looked up the name on Facebook.

That’s interesting. She worked at that stupid summer camp my parents sent me to in high school.

Despite the minor connection, Emma dismissed the woman as a kook, determined to enjoy her quiet weekend before another busy week.

Monday at work was so boringly typical; she was extra annoyed to see a mystery figure standing on her front porch. Emma stepped out of her car, feeling hyperaware of the chilly air and brisk wind.

The woman turned around and met her eyes before she could say anything. Recognition flashed in her expression.

“Hello? How can I help you?” Emma demanded, trying her hardest to force aggression and confidence into her voice.

“You really don’t know me?” The woman asked, her expression quickly transitioning to a mix of anger and sadness. “My name is Mandy Florence. We went to Jumping Bear together?” She pressed, voice desperate.

Emma’s heart skipped at the mention of the camp, but she’d never met this woman.

“No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong Emma. Can you just leave me alone?”

“No, I can’t,” Mandy replied as she suddenly approached. Before Emma could react, Mandy stood a foot before her. Wordlessly, she raised her hands and performed a quick, seemingly random sequence of claps.

Without thinking, Emma responded with her own series of hand movements, to her utter shock.

Emma’s jaw dropped as she stared at Mandy with wide eyes. “Why did I do that?!”

“Because it’s our secret handshake from when we were kids. You’ve done it hundreds of times. Can we go inside and talk?”

Eyes still wide with disbelief, Emma nodded as her gut lurched and something tweaked in the back of her mind.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked, once inside, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I was concerned when I didn’t hear from you for a while, so I kept reaching out, but you were acting so weird. Then, I got this message from someone who calls themselves “Version Seven.”

Mandy held out her phone for Emma to read:

The Emma out there now is version 24; your old friend is gone.

“Do you have any idea what that means? Did you sign up for something weird?”

Emma shook her head aggressively. “No! Of course not; that just sounds like some kind of scam.”

“Yeah, but then you kept saying you didn’t know me…” Mandy paused, looking behind Emma as something caught her eye.

“Why is that floorboard sticking out like that?”

Emma turned, “Oh, because-” but the thought escaped her. “Hm, I don’t know.”

Mandy quickly bent down and pulled it up, revealing the hidden note and photo. She shook her head as she stood and shoved them over to Emma. “What are these, then?”

Emma took them with shaky hands, looking down at her own handwriting and a photo of herself she’d never seen before. She looked back up at Mandy and realized with a jolt that it was the two of them in the photo.

“I have more pictures downstairs,” Emma whispered blankly, running toward the basement door before she lost her courage.

They flipped through the photo albums, Emma panicking as she realized she didn’t remember any of them.

“Mandy, I’m scared. I know you, but I don’t know you. What is this?”

“I’m not sure, but Version Seven is gonna tell us,” Mandy said as she whipped out her phone.

Okay, Emma is on board. What’s next?

Version Seven responded immediately: “Meet me at 298 Hendson Avenue. Go inside, move the green table, open the hatch, and go downstairs. DO NOT let Emma fall asleep!!!”

Mandy furrowed her brow and showed Emma the text.

They stared at each other briefly, Emma’s mind reeling but producing nothing.

Mandy’s expression steeled, “Do you want to continue living in ignorant bliss, or do you want answers?”

Emma nodded. “Let’s go. Can you drive?”

"Yes." They ran out and peeled off in her car for a tense, silent ride to the warehouse at the edge of town. The tires screeched as Mandy brought the vehicle to a quick stop, moonlight spilling out over the loose gravel. They jumped out of the car, wrinkling their nose at the dank, rotting smell in the air.

They approached the paint-chipped red door barely hanging onto its hinges. Emma took a deep breath before pushing it open with a creak. They both stopped short when the crumbling green table came into sight.

“Well, it’s now or never,” Mandy broke the silence, stepping forward to shove the table over and reveal the hatch. “Can you help me lift it?” She asked, looking up at Emma.

Emma shook her head as she pulled herself out of her fearful trance. The door finally swung open on their third heave.

They wordlessly descended the rusted metal ladder, revealing a damp, dimly lit concrete room at the bottom.

“That was quick.” They both whipped around to see a figure emerge from a dark corner.

Mandy stepped forward. “Well, I went 30 over the whole time. If I get a ticket, I’ll bill you."

Emma gasped as the mystery woman stepped into the light. “Why do you look just like me… but not?” She whispered, heart fluttering.

“It’s because I’m Version Seven. You’re 24. Please, follow me. I’ll lead you to the other survivors.”

“Survivors?” Mandy asked, eyes flickering between Emma and Version Seven, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

Version Seven sighed. “Once they complete their memory perfection experiments on one version, they move the memories into the next version and discard the previous one. But, a few of us figured out how to play dead.”

Version Seven moved to go down the dark hallway, but neither Emma or Mandy made a move to follow, both staring at her incredulously. She sighed again.

“Emma. How old do you think you are?”

“Uh, 20- wait, 30…” she trailed off.

“Exactly.” Version Seven said, growing impatient. “When was the last time you got sick?”

Emma stared blankly, mouth hanging open.

Version Seven continued, “Do you like your job?”

Emma smiled now. “Of course!”

“Why? It sucks. Your coworkers are catty, it’s tedious as hell, and you’ll never move up.”

Emma frowned. “But the client presentation went so well.”

“What industry is the client in?”

Emma opened her mouth to speak but promptly closed it again, glaring.

“There is no big client.” Version Seven watched as acceptance slid into Emma’s expression.

Emma felt a prickle creep up her spine as she crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders. “So they’ve tried to kill 23 people?”

Version Seven chuckled darkly. “Oh, it’s more than that. Emma Hesper is only one subject.”

They finally arrived in a room filled with a handful of dirty, bedraggled survivors, some of whom resembled Emma, some strangers.

Heart hammering, Emma scanned the room and studied the faces. She felt her insides turn to ice as she locked eyes with a tired, elderly version of herself, a glimpse into her future.

The woman smiled softly and held out her hand. “I’m Version One.”