“I’ll do it,” I said, grabbing the keyboard. “You make sure the printer is on.”

Cal gave me a look but sat on the floor without a word, pulling the equally prehistoric printer from the shadows of the desk. I waited until her eyes were busy, and I clicked, coaxing the screen to life.

Welcome to the Looking Glass! What are you looking for today?

1. The location of a person or object (time and/or geography)
2. An individual human memory
3. Return to menu

“What kind of outlet is this for?” Cal asked, holding up a cable.

“I don’t know,” I said without looking. My hand hesitated, but only for a second before I clicked B.

“Hold on, there’s a bin of cords here,” Cal said, approaching the desk from the back. “Let me know when it lights up, okay?”

A new box opened on the screen, a cursor blinking within it.

1. Name:
2. Specific Memory Context:

“Anything yet?”

“Nope,” I said, my eyes on nothing but the screen.

“I bet the damn thing itself only takes three seconds and Freaky Felix just gets off on torture by nineteen-nineties technology.”

“Probably.”

I typed and hit Enter. The screen stuttered and froze.

“I mean, if you think about it, this thing is kind of like his great-grandfather,” Cal said, throwing another cable over her shoulder. “Still nothing?”

“Nope,” I managed to say. The spinning circle appeared, vibrant and energetic.

“Pey, I can see the light from here!”

I looked down at the printer.

“Right,” I said. “It just started.”

Cal wiped her hands on her pants and came back to my side. I felt her lean over my shoulder, the buttons of her shirt grazing my arm.

“Where are we at?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s processing.”

Cal stayed there, close enough that I thought my beating heart might hurt her.

“Why would it be loading like that? Aren’t you supposed to be on a map screen? Are you sure you opened the right—”

ONE MINUTE AND FORTY-FIVE SECONDS

The announcement was loud enough that Cal and I both jumped. But only she whirled around, so I caught the screen when it loaded.

And just like that, there it was. My information, my memories. All of me, from when I was someone. I clicked print and slammed the mouse to close it out, but it was too late.

“Pey, what is that?” Cal asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as it was a knife made verbal and cold.

The printer awoke with a crackle and whir.

“Shit,” I said, slamming the mouse again for effect. “It restarted.”

“Bullshit,” Cal said. “What did you do?”

ONE MINUTE

“I’m sorry.”