Unforgiven by Stephanie Erickson Page A

memories, they were a blur. All except one. You’d think you would know a person well after watching her whole life, but the experience had been fast and overwhelming. It had left me with more questions than answers about what made Tracy Tracy .
    “You don’t have to actually control the person in a puppeteer sort of way. All you have to do is plant an idea. They’re much more likely to do what you want if they believe they thought of it first. So be both subtle and specific. Their own ideas and personality will mold your original thought, the same way water and sunlight inspire growth in a growing plant. It can change the outcome drastically if you’re not careful.
    “What I want you to do first is get me to write a sentence. The sentence can be whatever you, or I, want. Just force me to put pen to paper. Nothing more, nothing less.” A piece of paper and pen were already sitting on the table between us.
    “A sentence,” I repeated.
    “That’s right. Now get to work.”
    “Tracy, how exactly do you implant an idea when you’re in the middle of the blackness of someone’s mind?”
    “Ideally, with subtlety. Some people just whisper a command and hope it takes, others try something a bit more actionable, like creating a false memory. As always, you need to see what works for you.”
    Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and made my way through her defenses. It felt like it took me forever, but each time I walked through her battlefield and up to her wall, it got a little easier.
    Finally, I found myself in the dark space once again. Plant an idea, I thought. Easy enough, right? But how was I supposed to plant an idea? It wasn’t like I could be literal about it. There weren’t any gardening supplies in the expanse of darkness that surrounded me. Or, if there were, I couldn’t see them.
    Then there was the problem of what I should have her write. I see your mind. No, too creepy. Hey Tracy. Not thoughtful enough. Then I had it.
    With no other ideas for how to plant an idea , I shouted the phrase desperately into the darkness. I thought my desperation might give her some urgency. That done, I waited. I couldn’t tell if anything was happening, so I shouted it again. Still no visible change, so I decided to open my eyes and reassess the situation. Maybe she could give me some tips on what I was doing wrong, or how I might go about the assignment differently.
    Tracy was holding the paper in her hands and staring blankly ahead, as if she’d been reading it. She put it down so I could see, but she didn’t look at me.
    Are you writing this, or am I? was scrawled messily on the page. Twice.
    “That must’ve been you. My handwriting isn’t that messy,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. But she only blinked.
    “What an odd experience,” she said, her voice sounding distant, as if her mind was still someplace else.
    “You’ve never been controlled before?”
    “No. I’ve done it to others, dozens of times. But that…” She trailed off.
    Folding my arms over my chest, I felt very proud of what I had done. I had controlled the uncontrollable. “So, how was it?”
    “Uncomfortable.” She slouched a little in her chair and leaned heavily on the table.
    I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come. Uncomfortable wasn’t the word I’d expected. In the back of my mind, I’d hoped she might express some pride in my accomplishment. I hadn’t taken the time to consider what my accomplishment might have done to her. Then my mind jumped to the most probable ways control would be used against the enemy.
    “Have you ever made someone do anything…” I paused, not sure how to finish that sentence.
    “Unsavory?” she asked, and then nodded once.
    I didn’t want to know, and I was suddenly thankful for the fact that most of her memories were now a blur in my mind. I didn’t want an image like that—of her questioning someone forcefully, or worse—to color my opinion of her. Anyway, I had no idea how I