Chernobyl’s Revenge

VI*

Kreves entered the building. It was pretty old, but the interior had been renovated to look as modern as any contemporary building. He walked until he reached a spacious lobby with a striking red carpet. He didn’t encounter anyone on his way; the building seemed deserted, which was strange since his calculations suggested several people lived there. After arriving at the lobby, he walked about 20 steps until he came to a rather old elevator. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor.

Luckily for Kreves, the elevator was quite slow, giving him time to calm himself. His hands were sweaty, and he tried to breathe slowly to steady his nerves. Before reaching the floor, he pulled his police department badge from his jacket—after all, he didn’t want to waste time on formalities.

When he arrived at the third floor, the elevator creaked as it opened, revealing a wide hallway on the other side. The walls were white, and the floor was covered in the same red carpet that had caught his attention in the lobby. He looked in both directions until he spotted the sign he was searching for: “The London Psychiatric Clinic.” He headed toward it, but before he could knock on the door, two people came out to meet him.

One was a petite woman with blonde hair, relatively thin, and brown eyes. She wore a gray skirt and jacket with a formal white shirt underneath. Her companion had a much rougher appearance: dark-skinned, with gray eyes and black hair, taller than Kreves, and wearing a white lab coat.

“Detective, let me introduce myself. I am Miss Caroline, and this is Dr. Beckley. Could you tell us the reason for your visit?”

“I’m Detective Lockwood, the son of Alexa and Benjamin Lockwood,” Kreves said, noticing a slight shudder in Dr. Beckley as he spoke. “My parents came to this clinic thirteen years ago to erase my childhood memories, and now I need to recover them.”

Both Caroline and Dr. Beckley were stunned. They looked at each other as if trying to decide what to say next. Finally, the doctor spoke.

“Detective, the person who performed those procedures was my father. Unfortunately, he passed away four years ago. The treatment you underwent is very risky—it involves certain areas of the brain that could cause permanent damage if not handled correctly. I could try to reverse what was done to you years ago, but without my father, I cannot guarantee that you will recover your memories or avoid side effects.”

“Doctor, I have to try. It’s not just about my memories or my peace of mind. They are crucial to one of the cases I’m working on.”

“I understand, Detective. I’ve explained the possible consequences, but if you choose to accept the risks, I can only ask you to follow me.”

The doctor headed further into the clinic, Kreves followed, and Miss Caroline closed the door behind them. The atmosphere inside was entirely different. Unlike the striking decor in the rest of the building, the clinic was understated and entirely white. The furniture ranged from gray to white tones, and the only decorations were a still-life painting and a display of the Beckley doctors’ credentials.

They walked until they reached a consultation room. This room was different from the rest of the clinic—its colors were darker. At the center stood a large burgundy sofa, and next to it, a larger black couch, big enough for someone to lie down on.

The doctor entered and turned on the light, which was dim and warm. With a gesture, he invited Kreves to step inside.

“This room is meant to help patients relax. You need to be as calm as possible, or the treatment will not work. I’ll need you to leave anything that might distract you in this basket. I’ll return everything to you afterward.”

Kreves placed his watch, phone, and gun in the basket. The doctor then placed it on a small table beside the burgundy sofa.

“I need to explain the potential side effects of this treatment,” the doctor began. “They include personality changes, headaches, temporary vision loss, visual or auditory hallucinations, loss of appetite, and amnesia. I must also stress that success is not guaranteed.”

“Doctor, the peace of London could be in my head. This is no time for me to worry about side effects. The reason I’m doing this goes far beyond simple curiosity.”

“Understood, Detective. Please lie down on the couch and put these over your eyes,” the doctor instructed, handing him a pair of black glasses to completely block his vision. “We’ll begin shortly. But first, I need to ask you one question: Have you remembered anything, no matter how small, about your past life?”

“Yes, but my memories are distorted. There are certain mental gaps I can’t fill no matter how hard I try.”

“I see, Detective. What you’re experiencing is directly related to the treatment my father performed on you. As I mentioned, it’s a procedure that targets highly sensitive areas of the brain, aiming to block severe traumas that could interfere with daily life. He did this to patients who experienced PTSD.”

“Doctor, I didn’t have any trauma. My adoptive parents decided to put me through this so I wouldn’t remember my childhood, sparing them any issues in raising me.”

“That simplifies the case, Detective. However, what you’re experiencing now is a result of trying to break through the barrier created years ago, whether it was intended as a defense mechanism or not. Wait here for a moment, and we’ll begin your session.”

“Detective, I have another question for you. When did you start remembering? Was there something different than usual that might have triggered the recovery of these memories?”

“Yes, this case... we suspect this person is from Ukraine, and in one of the scenes, they left something written...”

“In that case, let’s begin. Tell me the phrase that made you remember, repeat it in the language it was written in.”

Kreves was about to argue that he wasn't even sure which language it was written in when his body seemed to respond on its own:

“мирный атом” – At that moment, Kreves remembered everything he had been told. It was clear that he knew these words; after all, he had lived there. However, he couldn’t help but be surprised to speak another language, especially when he only remembered speaking English.

“Now, count backward from 10 in that same language. As you do, you will start to feel sleepy, and the sleep will grow heavier with each count. When you reach 0, you will fall into a very deep sleep.”

Kreves began counting backward from 10. At first, it felt strange to speak in a language that seemed completely unfamiliar, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own. He recited the numbers perfectly, and as he articulated the words with complete clarity and fluency, he began to feel that this was no longer foreign to him; a feeling of home embraced him. When he reached the number 5, he felt his body grow very tired. His eyelids began to close, and the deepest sleep overtook him.