Chapter 7 - The Memory They Could Not Erase
The recording began with my own voice.
For several seconds, nobody in the archive room moved.
I stared at the screen.
At myself.
At a version of me I didn't remember.
The woman on the recording looked younger.
Tired.
Confused.
But it was still me.
My voice.
My face.
My words.
"How is that possible?"
I whispered.
Nobody answered.
Because nobody had an answer.
The recording continued.
The camera showed a hospital room.
The same hospital where I spent weeks recovering after the explosion.
The same place where I was told I was lucky.
The same place where everyone acted like survival was the only story that mattered.
But now I was seeing something different.
A hidden interview.
A conversation nobody told me about.
The person behind the camera spoke.
"Lieutenant Mitchell, please confirm your name and date of birth."
The younger version of me looked directly at the camera.
"Lieutenant Sarah Mitchell."
My voice sounded weaker than I remembered.
"My date of birth is..."
The recording continued.
But I wasn't listening to the details.
I was watching my own expression.
Because I recognized that look.
Fear.
Confusion.
The feeling of knowing something was wrong but not knowing why.
The interviewer continued.
"Do you remember the events before the explosion?"
The younger me looked down.
A long silence followed.
Then she answered.
"Yes."
My heart stopped.
Daniel looked at me.
"You remember?"
I couldn't respond.
Because I didn't.
Not consciously.
Not until that moment.
The recording continued.
"I remember someone changing the mission information."
My entire body went cold.
The archive room suddenly felt too small.
The younger version of me continued speaking.
"I remember Lieutenant Ellis finding out."
Davis closed his eyes.
Because he knew what was coming.
"I remember him saying we couldn't trust the briefing."
I stepped closer to the screen.
Every word felt like a piece of my missing life returning.
The interviewer asked:
"Did you report this information?"
The younger me shook her head.
"No."
"Why?"
A pause.
Then my younger self answered:
"Because someone came to my room before I could."
Everyone became still.
Admiral Cross leaned closer.
"Who?"
The interviewer asked the same question.
The recording continued.
The younger me looked away from the camera.
Like even years earlier, she was afraid.
"I don't know his name."
A pause.
"But my father knew him."
The room went silent.
I felt like the air had disappeared.
My father.
Again.
Every path led back to him.
The person who should have protected me.
The person who had stood beside my hospital bed.
The person who had looked at my scars with disappointment.
The person who had spent years telling me he loved me.
And somehow...
He was always near the truth.
The recording continued.
"What did this person say?"
My younger self swallowed.
"He said I was confused."
Another pause.
"He said the explosion had damaged my memory."
I looked at Davis.
My hands began shaking.
Because I remembered that.
Not the conversation.
The feeling.
People telling me not to trust my own mind.
Doctors.
Investigators.
Even my father.
They all said trauma could create false memories.
And I believed them.
Because I wanted to believe them.
Because accepting that someone had changed my life deliberately was harder than believing I was broken.
The interviewer asked:
"Did you believe him?"
The younger me looked directly into the camera.
"No."
My breath caught.
Because that answer came from a version of myself I barely remembered.
"No."
She repeated.
"I knew what I saw."
The screen flickered.
Then the recording showed a different angle.
A document appeared.
The younger me held a paper in her hands.
"I wrote everything down."
Davis stepped closer.
"What?"
The recording continued.
"I knew they might try to make me forget."
My eyes widened.
The younger me placed the document on the table.
"So I wrote it before they could."
Admiral Cross immediately looked at the security officer.
"Can you enhance the image?"
He nodded.
The screen became clearer.
The document was old.
Damaged.
But one sentence was visible.
A sentence that made my entire body freeze.
"Colonel Thomas Reed changed the mission parameters."
Nobody spoke.
The name that had haunted the entire day appeared again.
But this time...
It was different.
Because it wasn't a suspicion.
It was my memory.
My testimony.
My truth.
The recording continued.
"And Lieutenant Sarah Mitchell witnessed the original order."
I closed my eyes.
A memory broke through.
A room.
A computer screen.
A conversation.
Thomas Reed standing near a desk.
My younger self walking past.
Hearing voices.
"Change the location."
A man's voice.
"She doesn't need to know."
Another voice.
My father.
"No."
I opened my eyes.
The memory disappeared.
But it had been real.
I knew it.
"I remember."
Everyone turned toward me.
Davis looked shocked.
"What?"
I held my head.
"I remember."
The words came out slowly.
"The day before the mission."
Admiral Cross moved closer.
"What happened?"
I looked at the screen.
"My father came to the base."
Silence.
"Not after the explosion."
I swallowed.
"Before."
Daniel looked confused.
"Why would your father be there?"
I didn't know.
But another memory was coming.
My father standing with Thomas Reed.
The same photograph.
The same people.
The same secret.
"He wasn't visiting me."
I whispered.
"He was meeting him."
Admiral Cross immediately turned to the security officer.
"Find every record connected to Richard Mitchell and Thomas Reed."
The officer started typing.
The archive searched.
Files appeared.
More and more.
Then one file stopped everything.
A personal communication log.
Date:
Three days before the explosion.
Sender:
Richard Mitchell.
Recipient:
Colonel Thomas Reed.
I stared.
"No."
Because there was something else.
Something underneath.
A second recipient.
Someone who had received the same message.
Admiral Cross looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
"That's impossible."
I looked at her.
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
The security officer enlarged the information.
The second recipient appeared.
A military officer.
A person whose name I recognized immediately.
A person who had spent years defending my father.
A person who had helped bury the investigation.
The screen displayed the name.
And then the archive doors suddenly locked.
A red warning light flashed above us.
"Unauthorized access detected."
Everyone turned.
The security officer checked the system.
His face went pale.
"Someone is trying to delete the archive."
Admiral Cross stepped forward.
"Stop it."
"I can't."
The files began disappearing.
One by one.
The final document remained on the screen.
The one with the second recipient's name.
Then the system froze.
A message appeared.
"Emergency override activated."
A new authorization request appeared.
Not from outside.
Not from command.
From inside the building.
May you like
The screen displayed the person currently accessing the archive.
And the name was my father's.
