On the count of three, we each lay a final strip of tape to complete the pattern." Darcy looks at each of you in turn. "Ready?"
"This is such a bad idea," Manish says, but he pulls a strip of tape off of his roll.
You do the same. "Ready."
"One," Darcy says. The three of you kneel.
"Two." You hold the tape above its final spot.
"Three."
And you finally remember—Desmond, the disrupted pattern, the backlash sawing through all of you—
Right on time, Desmond ambles into the room. "Thought I heard you in here, Darcy."
The tape's in place. The pattern is complete.
A pattern designed for three people.
Desmond looks down.
Fire licks from your hands, but it's drowned out by the pattern blazing to light. Bone-white fire leaps along every strip of tape. You can't break away and
then the memories
fragments like glass shards
sharp so sharp as they pierce
you
and Darcy
and Manish
and Desmond
and you
and Darcy
and Manish and Desmond
and you and Darcy and Manish and Desmond and you and
Next
You're sitting on a bench in the quad. You're still in that basement. Memory has fractured. You're trapped.
No. Breathe. You lived through it. But it hurts to have those memories whip back through you.
Next