“He was our savior… Thanks to him I am alive…
I squeezed the bag with the folders inside and told myself it was the last time any of us told this lie.
The clash
After the funeral, we were left alone next to one of the stone columns of the cemetery. The wind blew my veil, the rain sticking my hair to my face.
“Tough day, huh?” my father said, hugging me. “But from here on out, it’ll be better.” There is a legacy left. We’ll start fresh.
His touch, which had brought me comfort before, was now causing me physical disgust.
I inhaled. Two scents were mixed in my memory – its cheap aftershave water and the smell of laboratory burning, ozone and melted plastic.
“Dad…” I whispered.
“Yes, dear?”
Do you remember that night in the lab?
I felt his body freeze.
“What… what are you saying?”
I leaned over to his ear so that no one else could hear:
It smelled like ozone. On smoke. It was so hot that the glass was bursting on its own. He pressed the lock button outside and heard her screaming your name before it exploded the core of the reactor.
He stepped back, his eyes widening.
“Klara…
I remember everything, Dad. I saw it through his eyes. I heard it through his ears. I read the papers you signed. I saw the bank statements.
His face turned pale to greenish.
He… he poisoned you! These pills… you’ve brainwashed you!
“No,” I said calmly. “The pills gave me his memory.” And the safe gave me the evidence.
He began to look for words, his hands waving:
