by Anna Keats
Besides me, Adam is seated. His perfect golden locks have been teased gently to run from his forehead, giving me the opportunity to study his jet-black eyebrows in more detail. They are so fine; I can’t help wondering if he has them styled.
He has been by my side in the intervening days since leaving the hospital – which took longer than I thought it would do.
My strength has been growing and despite my ankle injury, I am making tentative forays out into the world on a crutch, albeit unaccompanied. The warty nurse on the ward had been particularly insistent that Adam be kept away. It wasn’t just her. I also noticed the way the others viewed him, with suspicion.
But after a week, I can take it no more. I sign the papers and simply walk out, leaving the starched and prim nurse in a minor state of hysterics.
“But Ms. Rogers, you have retrograde amnesia, you can’t…,” she pleads, as I collected my belongings – the few things that I had had on me when they found me. I planned to go through them more thoroughly later. “The best place for you right now is the hospital, not home…” her voice trails off.
Home.
There’s that word again; the one which strikes to my core, making me queasy and ill. From the moment I woke up there, in that starched bed, it was like a huge clock had been counting down the seconds before I was going to have to confront it; my so-called life.
Of course, I have been wracking my brains for even the faintest memory of anything – to no avail. All I know is the deep sense of unease lurking within me, eating into me. I don’t know why, but I don’t really want to go back “home”.
However, the ward sister isn’t done yet. Her dark eyes communicate their irritation to me, as she continues; “There’ll be no one to look after you…there…or,”
“I’ve got Adam!” I say, immediately. She just speaks over me;
“…Or someone who may do you more harm than good…,” she says, a look of disdain coming over her at the mere mention of his name.
“Come on, let’s go to a hotel,” I had said to Adam, as he stood waiting for me outside.
“Are you alright to walk?” he checks, supporting me as he walks me across the threshold, away from prying eyes.
I nod, testily.
“My ankle hurts, but it’s getting better,” I say.
It’s a blowy and bright day much like today, with the golden fall leaves blowing aimlessly in the breeze.
All I had wanted to do was start over again. And although I certainly don’t have a lot of money, there’s a clump of dollar bills in my purse from somewhere.
But Adam has other ideas.
“No, no, Aurelia,” he says. “It’s important that you do this. It might help,” he says, convincingly. He nudges me towards the envelope he gave me earlier, the one I had forgotten all about; the one containing my supposed “good news”.
“What, here?” I say. We are standing in the small courtyard overlooking the hospital, the wind is picking up speed and despite the bright skies, I feel a cold droplet of rain on my forehead.
“Go on…,” he says, quite excited. Like a child, he watches my face as I carefully remove the creamy white sheet of paper. Reading it, I get quite a surprise.
“In the absence of any living heirs, you are the sole beneficiary of Miss Rogers senior’s items. Please make an appointment at your earliest convenience to discuss the matter…,” it says.
Then, turning to Adam, I give a laugh. “So, I’ve been left a set of spoons!”
Adam eyes me unsurely. “Maybe…,” he says. “But it wouldn’t hurt to go along anyway?”
…And so here we are. Every now and then, as he talks, the solicitor’s perfectly groomed head turns curiously towards mine, as if viewing me like some rare exhibit. His head is not the only one that turns either. I quickly realize this is par for the course wherever I go.
Sunset Tracks is a quiet neighborhood, where nothing ever seems to happen. The reappearance of an heiress with amnesia has created something of a stir, and now wherever I go, there are faces pressed staring and eyes prying.
“Well, then, we get to the legacy…,” he finally says.
From across the room, Adam’s eyes meet mine, in a hidden smirk. He has a way of injecting mischief into every situation, no matter how inappropriate. It is one of the things I love about him. But beneath it, I can see his eyes, watchful and excited.
Then, the solicitor presses something cold and hard into my hand.
“So, then, it’s all yours now…”
I look down, expecting some old ornament, but instead, it’s a key.
Chapter 8
“Roger’s Lodge. The first thing we change is the name…!” laughs Adam, as he hands me the oversized key.
I take it in my right hand, studying it seriously. “Look at this place…I didn’t think it would be so big!”
“Yes, it’s pretty much the biggest house in town…,” he says.
It is later on, the same sunny fall day in early November. Now the sky is colored a hazy shade of blue, making up for the never-ending rain of the last few weeks. A mist hangs in the air, casting a sort of spell over the front lawn we have just walked through.
“And now, it’s all yours…,” Adam says with a flourish.
He reads from the chipped post on the entrance that bears the name.
In front of us is a large, gray house, which is several stories high, hitherto the property of some long-dead aunt, who no-one even expected me to remember. I run my finger casually over the moss that is growing over the carved letters on the post. If you had to spot a house that had been abandoned, this would be it. It seems as if no-one has been within spitting distance of the place in the entire time it has been vacant – and that is several years.
“Just look at this place, it must be worth upwards of a million…,” Adam says, giving a low whistle.
I look up and appreciate the place more fully. It is dark and gloomy. Icy drips of water land on our heads, from the broken guttering above. It seems as if there is a gull’s nest in the chimney stacks and the front walk up here is totally infested with brambles. All in all, if I am to pick a word to describe it, I would use foreboding.
But none of this matters; I am still reeling from the excitement of being left anything in someone’s will. Finding it has not been easy, Adam and I driving through the never-ending suburban streets out in this upscale area of town. As we creak through the country lanes in his ancient Ford, I take the opportunity to surreptitiously check him over.
This is the first time I have been in his car. Or really, have the chance to discover anything about him. As his olive-toned hands stretch out, holding the wheel, I find myself wondering vaguely how old his car is. Because, judging by the state of it, I’d say very.
“Is this just your runaround or something?” I laugh when I first get into it. It occurs to me that someone with a big house downtown would usually own something newer.
But, as soon as I say it, I regret it, as a mild look of hurt crosses his face. I backpedal for all I am worth.
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” I say, and he smiles at me.
Now that I see his face in sunlight, Adam looks even more enchanting. The way the rays of light catch the glints in his dark gold hair and the sudden, quick bursts of mischief from his face bring him to life in a way that I didn’t quite notice in the hospital.
That spark, that we had had there, in the afternoon has very much been accelerated into a full-on, forest fire. And not being able to do anything about it has been just about driving me crazy.
We park up and are now at the threshold to the door. Tentatively, I produce the rusted iron key and place it in the ancient lock. To both our amazement, it turns easily and the door opens. Just like that!
“You’re not scared, are you?” he teases me, giving my hand a surreptitious squeeze below the threshold, as I linger on the precipice.
I gaze ahead, into the darkened corridor, as the cracked door creaks open.
“
Don’t be silly,” I say, but dig my hand into his all the same. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
He smiles, leading me on, down the gloomy passageway. In passing, I try to flick a light switch and am shocked to discover it still working. As the yellowing light spreads about the walls, I get a sudden musty smell from somewhere. It comes up hard and inveigles my lungs, making me feel queasy and weak. There is mold on the walls and a cloying, dampness pervading the atmosphere. All I want to do is get out of here.
“Can we… let’s just go…” I say, grabbing his arm. “I made a mistake in coming here. I thought it would be easy. But it’s not. It feels wrong…”
Alarmed, Adam reaches over. “What do you mean? Have you remembered something…?” he says. His bronzed eyes peer into mine, searchingly. I feel the strongest desire ever to hold him tightly and keep running until we are miles away from this creepy place.
I don’t know why, but an awful feeling of dread is coming from me. …But not because I can remember something; quite the opposite.
My mind is a complete blank.
Chapter 9
"Home again," I say, breezily, before setting the brown paper grocery bags down on the ancient kitchen island. I scan the chipped and crumbling room keenly. It has been five days since Aurelia came home.
“You never really told me much about yourself. I mean, you know, I am sure it’s all in here somewhere, but…” she shrugs.
I stare at her fascinated. She is now even more beautiful than I first remembered; her golden blonde locks caressing her bare shoulder blades.
Today, she has on a saucy off the shoulder knitted top, that hugs her contours to perfection.
“Ah, um, there isn’t much to say…,” I say, trying to deflect her attention from the car crash which is my life. It isn’t hard. Right at that moment an army of ants troop across the disintegrating kitchen counter.
This whole place is kind of crummy, but still, I like it. The kitchen comes with a resident slug that likes to come out of the air vent at precisely 11.46 pm every night. All the same, I am happier than I ever have been, since leaving Sunset Tracks all those years ago.
“So, where’s home…?” she asks, cheerily. “You sound like you’re not from around here and all!”
“Everywhere and nowhere,” I start, lightheartedly making my excuses, but deep inside, my heart is beating away. “But, um, here now, just recently…” I murmur quickly, in case she thinks I am some no-hoper who has just latched onto her. Which is exactly what I am.
“Oh yeah, cos you’ve got a home here now, haven’t you, whereabout?” she asks.
Home, that word resonates inside me, chipping away and eating into my consciousness. For so long I never had a home.
“Not far,” I say, swiftly changing the subject. Then I continue. “We came before because my dad was in the military and he was stationed here… you know how it is… we moved about a billion times in twelve years. By the time I was fifteen, I’d lived in twelve different states and three countries…. It’s kind of hard to put roots down anywhere before they’d get ripped away. After a while, you stop trying…,” I say, giving her a smile.
“That’s sad…,” she says, squeezing my hand a little. Although I want her closeness, I don’t want pity and something prickles inside me.
“And here’s me with a home and no memory of it. Or anything…”
“Hey,” I say, coming closer. We kiss, tentatively, as the pan on the stove clatters and bangs to a boil. Everything about this place is old and creaky.
“You want to know something. That year that I was here, when my pa was stationed in the next town… it was the best year of my life…,” I push her hair from her eyes and kiss her forehead lightly.
“I wish I could remember you,” she starts, twiddling her wavy hair around her perfectly shaped forefinger. My eyes run up and down both her hands, scanning for signs of rings. So far, the coast is clear. “And that you had a somewhere… or something to belong…”
Our eyes meet once more, as she starts meaningfully at me.
“I belong here…,” I say, taking her arm in mine. I know it’s crazy, but just recently, I have started thinking of Roger’s Lodge as home.
Over the last few days, Aurelia and I have become inseparable; with both of us trying to stitch the pieces of her life together. Despite my best attempts, nothing has come back to her. And now her deep blue eyes stare at me, searching for information.
“I never had a home before, so you can’t miss what you never had I guess…”
I say this in a way to signal the end of this conversation. The fact is, I am uncomfortable talking about the past. But Aurelia doesn’t want to let it lie.
“You said something about a wife?” she says, pertinently. She takes the heavy pan off the oven top and sets it down onto the cracked granite surface.
She is watching me closely the whole time that she says this. To try and shake her gaze my eye wanders across the cracked wall and up to the ancient popcorn ceiling above.
We haven’t found out too much about the old lady who owned it, but it could only have belonged to a maiden aunt. This whole kitchen is a paean to the color pink.
From the washed cerise walls to the crazy pink popcorn ceiling beyond; my eyes bleed wherever I focus them. The grainy, trodden in carpeting is pink, overlaid with disquieting clumps of a dark color. And judging by the smell of it, I’d say they're probably rats droppings.
“We really need to change this carpet,” I say, with a frown. But Aurelia just laughs.
“Don’t try and change the subject! Come on. You said you were married, so, where is she?”
“It’s complicated is where she is,” I quip.
“How long have you been married?”
“Two years, three days, four months…,” I reel off. Then add; “the first time…”
“The first time? How many times were there?” she laughs, throwing back her head and giving me a tantalizing peek into the contents of her brassiere.
This girl’s curves really don’t know where to stay put and instead of concentrating on deflecting her away from my danger zone, I am simply left staring like an idiot at her; like I have always done.
“Two times… three times… I don’t know, I lost count…,” I say. I am so done with this conversation. “But I don’t want to talk about Annelise…,” I say, tugging at Aurelia’s soft, pale skin. “I just want to talk about you, about us…”
It’s not a lie. A surge of animalistic lust detonates itself all across my body, depositing little prickles of pleasure everywhere. It’s like some giant shiver goes through me.
This is what it used to be like; in that magic teen year before being spirited away across the country by my folks. What I have been waiting for all this time. The pan finally boiled, Aurelia pours out two mugs of milky coffee and positions them on the grimy draining board.
“But…,” she begins. I put my finger to her lips.
I feel guilty doing this, but the less she knows about my life before this point the better.
“Or even, not to talk at all…,” I say, fastening the coffee cup handles around my left hand. Taking the other hand, I lead her by the hand firmly to the door and out into the bedroom.
Chapter 10
Sunlight dapples through the un-parted curtains, sending a clear shaft of light across the room. It dances over the tops of the chipped coffee mugs, which stand, still untouched, in the chill of the windowsill.
This room must have been hers once - Agnes, the mysterious benefactor who left me all this. It’s painted a dreary shade of pink. Pink, as we are discovering is a recurring theme in this place. The bathroom’s pink – both of them. The balustrades which line the main stairway are glow in the dark neon. The hallway is pink… it envelopes me and gets into me and makes me feel as if I am inside a giant vagina. Perhaps that is why we have been having so much sex?
I turn to face Adam, next to me in bed. He has been an almost constant presence by my s
ide ever since arriving here. He has helped me so much, with official stuff and finding new documents. I don’t know what I would have done without.
But today I am making a big decision. I need to go out on my own, get some time to gather my thoughts about what to do next.
“Hey, what’s so serious?” his soft voice drawls as if singing a lullaby through his sleep. His head is only just lifted off the lumpy pillow, which has a faint musty scent. Everything around here does.
“Adam, you’ve helped me so much over the last few days…”
Instantly he sits up in the creaking bed, alert, leaning his caramel head against the yellow metal frame.
“I sense a but coming,” he says, a wicked grin playing around his luscious lips. His warm eyes make a dart into mine, but it doesn’t block out the troubled tone in his voice.
“But… I’m going to have to go out later. I mean, away…,” I say, looking at him anxiously.
“Away?” he says, dropping the smile. Now he looks faintly horrified.
“What do you mean away…?”
“Not for long… but you’ve got somewhere to be, right?” I say confidently. “After all you were here for a reason, right, and that reason wasn’t just catching me from train platforms!”
“Darling, that is the reason I was put on this earth…,” he says, but inside the depths of his eyes, I see a flash of something I didn’t expect; panic. “But why? Where are you going?”
I find myself faltering under his scrutinous gaze.
“I...I… was going to take a journey… on the train. To try and jog my memory about what might have happened…”
Adam looks at me exasperated. “What on earth do you want to do that for? A dramatic recreation? Besides, everyone knows what happened. You simply fell onto the rails and banged your head… what good’s this going to do…?”
But my mind is made up. I simply pat him on the head and he scurries off to collect his things.