The Rewritten Memory

CHAPTER 4: The Handwritten Notes

"Don't raise your voice at me!" Wyatt demanded, nicely slicing the tense air, his posture ramrod straight, radiating a sudden confidence.

Calloway closed his eyes and took a deep, exhausted breath, forcing a calm smile, but his eyes reflected his inner fury. "Please calm down, V. You just make yourself hate... he advised, "Wyatt... please listen to my words... I am your future. I know you think I was a clone, but I am not!!!!! Look, we both shared the same scar." Calloway folded his shirt sleeve and showed his wrist. 

"You will look exactly like this after three years. I came to this timeline because... the world will be in a critical situation. The population was reduced to ten million people. Everyone has committed suicide by themself.... This is not the real world... This is not a world you expected in the past...." He gripped Wyatt's shoulders, his hands pleading, and his tone was low and had no attitude. "You are just living as a human robot.... Try to understand. This is not a peaceful, lovable life.... And the main thing, your memories were deleted.... Not just yours, just all over the world...."

Before Calloway could elaborate on the future possibilities theory, "Just shut up!!!!" Wyatt shouted, his high-pitched voice breaking the entire room. He clenched his hand, and his hand ran over his styled hair to messy. "You're making me want to kill myself now! I don't need your creepy stories. Just shut up!"

During their conversation, an intercom beeped, interrupting the tense situation. "OOPS... Wyatt muttered, turning towards the entrance. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I need to save myself."

"I know... It's a police..." Calloway murmured, a disappointed smirk flickering on his lips. "Please, just do a small favour, just one time... Before opening the door, I left you some evidence about the people and you on your table... Make sure you read the full document and notes. That will help you understand everything." With a nonsensory call, Calloway vanished into the air like a witch escaped in the daytime, and his presence and his warmth and his cologne—everything—faded without any trace.

Wyatt's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a train on a railway track. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, landed on the untouched sandal-coloured courier on the black wooden table. What if he's telling the truth? Wyatt thought as his gaze fixed on the empty room. "He just vanished in front of my eyes... How can I make a complaint again without evidence?" he questioned himself, still confused, a tornado spinning inside about how to handle the situation. 

"Gerre." An intercom again called.

Wyatt's gaze darted between the entrance and his bedroom. He left no choice.... You can do it, Wyatt! You can! He consoles himself as he adjusts his messy hair, wiping the sweat droplets from his forehead. Then he buttoned his shirt while walking towards the entrance door and cleared his throat before gripping the handle.

Forcing a neutral expression, he opened the door, rubbing his eyes like a sleeping child, forcing a wide yawn.

"Is this Wyatt Calloway?" The policeman asked, his tone determined and clear.

"Yes! Is there any problem, sir?" Wyatt arched his brows, his gaze shifted outside the hallway, pretending like nothing, and his face looked relatively calm.

He looks normal, the policeman wondered, observing Wyatt's nonchalant demeanour. "Sorry for the inconvenience... We received a call from your number." The policeman held up a tablet. "The call details show your number: 134580000421."

"Yup.... But I didn't, sir...." Wyatt answered, no hesitation in his tone. "Wait a second, I can check my phone. Maybe it's accidentally dialled," he turned back towards his room.

Noticing everything perfect about Wyatt's behaviour, "No need, sir... It's just a formality. Is everything okay on your side? Just asking for confirmation," the policeman assured again, as his eyes scanned the entire hall and room one last time.

Wyatt answered in a trusting tone, 'I am good.' After the policeman left his apartment, he closed the door and froze for a moment. He then let out a deep, relieved breath as his heart pounded like a horse's in a race bet. Leaning against the wall, he balanced himself on a nearby shoe stack. Oh my God... Why did I lie? Did I do it to save him, or was I just trying to? A million questions flooded his mind. Then he recalls the last words of Calloway as he made his way toward his room.

"The evidence... What does it mean?" Wyatt's brows furrowed, doubt a deep shadow in his eyes. As his hand slowly picked up the parcel on the table, he settled back onto the bed. He shook the parcel up and down to confirm that the parcel was paper, and then he tore the edge gently with the sharp knife. Curiosity piqued his expression. At first, he pulled out the handwritten, neat, unfolded paper, and again he pulled out the other five SIM cards, neatly stacked.

"What the hell? What he gave was another Dominion entry card. What's he trying to do?" Wyatt whispered in a low tone as he placed the entry's cards near him, and his gaze shifted to the written notes. He placed his hand on the edge of the sheet and started reading.

"Hi Wyatt...

If you read this letter, it means you probably have a little bit of trust in me."

"Trust!!!!! My ass... An irritated smirk twisted Wyatt's lips. He bit his lower lip and continued reading. "I'm thankful to you. You saved me from the police using a lie. I'm proud of you..."

Reading the line, Wyatt rolled his eyes over the conviction in Calloway's words, and a sudden flush of fury rose in his face.

"He's overconfident, and he already knows what I do… What am I going to do? It's just weird; I lied for this jerk..." He muttered, the words laced with disgust, and his gaze went back to the letter again. 

"I am giving some hope to myself... 

Wyatt Calloway... This is not your real name... This is not a real identity anymore; you are living on a certain code... You were already coded. 

Your work, your food, and how you speak—everything was coded... 

You can't see that... Have you even thought about that? Why is everyone doing the same shit and the same work?

Even you are all emotions controlled and coded....

Do you remember your childhood memories? School memories? College memories?

What about your love life? Do you know the meaning of love? 

Nothing, right?

I know you are probably scratching your temple and looking up at the ceiling and trying to think of an answer.

Which means the answer is a big no!!!!"

 After reading this line, his eyes follow to his hand placement, and suddenly he realises the fact as he immediately straightens his posture and hands. "Wait!!! What?" he exclaimed in a choked whisper, his arched brows darting around the room, taking in every detail as if seeing it for the first time. "This is crazy... how the heck did he predict my every single move?" His voice dropped, low and deep, as his eyes returned to the letter, hooked by a terrifying curiosity.

"Come on, man! Don't be dumb and search for cameras. This letter was already written, sweetheart! Let's talk about the scar on your left hand. It has a reason, doesn't it?

Why did that scar happen? When? How? Do you have a single reason behind it?"

Wyatt immediately flipped his wrist and gently rubbed the faded line; his eyes widened in shock. "No!!!!!! Way," he murmured as his gaze drifted back to the written notes.

"Wyatt... You know nothing about your life... Not even a 1% 

Listen to me, bro... People are just escaping from reality. Having happy, joyful memories is full of life, but the fact is, it's not... It's fucking not!"

Huh!!!! A shocking air escaped from Wyatt's lips.

"I don't want to confuse you further. We can discuss it another day. Tomorrow is your day off from work, isn't it?

Just pick all five cards and do as I say...

By Future Wyatt Calloway."

He was stunned after reading a letter; his hand lowered the letter. His gaze fixed on the nearby entry cards. "What the hell? Did I live on a program?" He whispered as his gaze shifted to his left hand with a cut scar.