by Alice Bell
Her lips curved. “I merely suggested you experiment with not wearing a watch and see how it feels. How does it feel, by the way?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t like it. I think it must be like not wearing underwear.”
She cocked her head and was silent. She always wanted me to direct the conversation but I knew if I waited long enough, she would take the helm. I tried not to squirm.
After a while, she said, “Is there something bothering you today?”
I uncrossed my legs and tapped my foot on the floor. Just once. Twice. She noticed and made a note on her pad, which irritated me for some reason. I crossed my legs again and took a deep breath. “I feel like I did something bad. When I had my mini-breakdown and—and I can’t remember. After I go to bed I lay there imagining all kinds of terrible things I might have done.”
She nodded. More silence. Sometimes I really hated her long meaningful pauses.
“That’s what’s bothering me,” I said. “Since you asked.”
“What do you mean by bad?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. There was this thing that happened at school. Right before I had that breakdown. A student in one of my writing classes dropped out. I know I offended her. We had an argument,” I rubbed my palm on my skirt. “She told me I was a terrible teacher.”
But that wasn’t right. I’d been the one to say that… to Georgie.
“Wait,” I said. “The girl, Autumn was her name, called me a liar. That’s what it was.”
“Did you lie to her?”
“No. God, of course not. I would never lie to a student. It was a misunderstanding.”
“What was misunderstood?”
I stared at her.
“Scarlett?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Sinclair. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s like a missing page in a book. And the closer I get to the end, the more missing pages there are.”
She nodded, which was encouraging, but then she said, “You’ll remember when you’re ready, Scarlett.”
She had no idea what it was like to be me, to have holes in your mind. “I want to remember what I did, Dr. Sinclair. I think I should be hypnotized. I feel very strongly about it… actually.”
She nodded again, which I now realized was a bad sign. “I don’t recommend hypnosis,” she said. “Not for memory retrieval. It can cause false and distorted memories, Scarlett. Not something you need right now.”
“But—”
She glanced at her computer screen. “That’s all the time we have for today.”
I need a watch, I thought.
Zadie
Zadie waited for Inka to tell her the news about Devon. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, the way Inka liked. She must exhibit self-control or who knew what Inka would do.
“Devon isn’t like us,” Inka’s gentle tone did nothing to assuage Zadie’s worry. If anything it felt ominous and Zadie didn’t know how much more heartbreak she could take.
“What do you mean?” Zadie’s voice stretched thin.
“Devon is alone.”
Zadie licked her lips. That didn’t sound so bad. She would prefer if Devon was never with anyone except her.
“Ah,” Inka said. “I know what you’re thinking. But what I mean is Devon doesn’t know his sire. He doesn’t know me. And that isn’t good. It is, in fact, against vampire law.”
Zadie’s fingers curled. She knew there were rules, she remembered the tests Inka had put her through before turning her, and she remembered the ravenous hunger afterwards, the sickness that came on when she needed to feed. And she couldn’t imagine what she would have done without Inka’s guidance in those early days. But what did that mean for Devon? Zadie’s blood turned cold.
Inka sat next to her on the bed and put a hand over Zadie’s for the briefest moment. “You see,” she said. “That’s how much I love you, Little One. I couldn’t break my promise to you. But Devon has no bond with me or anyone. He is rogue. Which is far from optimal. With no one to answer to he will be viewed as a threat by the powers that be—”
A cry escaped Zadie. Inka flashed her a dangerous look and Zadie put a fist to her mouth. She had to turn away from Inka in order not to betray the wild fear that tore at her. She had nothing to live for without Devon. The thought of being with him again was all that had sustained her when she’d been imprisoned in the realm. And yet it was Inka’s connections that had set her free.
“I did it for you,” Inka said, scolding, as if Zadie was to blame. “Your beloved Devon was dying. From the bite of a tiny mosquito. You took too much of his energy…”
Zadie couldn’t quite grasp what Inka was saying but it was becoming clear it was her fault, after all. How could she have doubted? Inka was beyond reproach.
“Devon was too weak to fight the fever,” Inka said. “So I stole into his hospital room and I waited. Oh my darling, I waited and waited. And at last, when the moment of death was upon him, I kissed him and made him immortal… before the Angels could descend. This I did for you, my dearest one.” She got up to stand before Zadie, looking down at her.
Zadie longed to close her eyes and curl up on the bed. But she knew Inka wouldn’t have it. She forced herself to meet her sire’s gaze.
“I broke the law for you. To save Devon.” Inka offered Zadie her hand to kiss.
Zadie trembled as her lips grazed Inka’s knuckles.
“Together we will find Devon. I am powerful, Little One, and you are made in my image. Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Zadie said. “I love you so much.”
“More than Devon?”
Fear coiled in Zadie’s gut. “Always.” She slid off the bed. Kneeling at Inka’s feet, she held Inka’s hand and smothered her palm with kisses. To distract Inka from the lie.
Devon
I remembered darkness. And coming apart inside it. But that was all. There was nothing else to orient me. I had no sense of time or space.
After a while, I opened my eyes. I have eyes, I thought.
There was a ceiling. Smooth, metallic.
I moved a hand. Wiggled fingers.
I am breathing.
I am alive.
I sat up and found myself on a narrow bed in a room filled with what appeared to be daylight. Only there were no windows. I swung my feet over the side of the bed. My thoughts tumbled and veered.
I stared at my hands. They were my hands, the ones I’d always known. My fingernails were encrusted with dirt, like I’d clawed my way out of a grave.
I touched my face. My heart pounded. I tried to take deep breaths. So I could think.
I was wearing the same clothes but they were in tatters. Somehow, I’d lost my black motorcycle boots, the only shoes I’d owned.
I glanced around the room. There wasn’t any furniture, except the bed I sat on. I couldn’t detect the source of light. There were no recognizable fixtures, just seamless gray walls.
I gazed down at my bare feet on the marbled floor. Same ugly toes, I thought. The floor wasn’t cold. It was the perfect temperature in fact. And I realized I felt no discomfort. No part of me ached. I wasn’t hungry.
And then, a second later, my stomach rumbled and there I was remembering my favorite foods; cheeseburgers and fries, vanilla milkshakes, tacos from the street stands in Mexico, caviar… champagne.
My human life played across my mind like a movie.
I was Devon Slaughter, a tiny baby with dark hair in my mother’s arms; an only child, unexpected even, born to parents who had already started the long process with an adoption agency.
I saw myself again as a boy in my Little League uniform, hitting the ball and dutifully running the bases while my lawyer father cheered louder than anyone. I had done so many things to please him. I cared nothing for sports but I played every one.
I saw my mother standing behind me while I sat at a table and worked an algebra problem.
Oh… Black Forest cake. Another favorite food. So many
layers, eighteen candles.
I stiffened. My breath caught.
There… next to me… clapping as I blew out candles—a girl. The girl. Such pale blonde hair against even paler skin, coffee brown eyes, the most exotic girl I could find. Zadie. The one thing I didn’t do to please my parents.
How my mother had hated her.
I closed my eyes. Grief hit me.
Back then, it seemed no one was good enough for me in my mother’s eyes. I was her miracle, the answer to her prayers. But now I remembered what she’d said about Zadie. “She will hurt you.” The words slammed and echoed against the walls of my mind.
I raked my hands through my hair. Had Zadie done this to me?
My breath turned ragged. I tried to bring that one last hazy memory into focus. Who kissed me on the beach? All I could catch were snatches of vivid color, images and texture, the touch of cold lips, fractured starlight.
Zadie?
There was a pressure in my head, a kind of humming, like a memory about to burst open and then…nothing.
At the sound of movement, I jerked my gaze up, and the wall in front of me slid open, revealing a bathroom. White tile gleamed. A lemony scent wafted out and then a voice spoke, so unexpected, I leapt to my feet.
“Please proceed to the facilities and use the shower,” the voice was female, computerized.
I stood there, disconcerted. Anxiety gripped me.
“Please take a shower,” the voice commanded again, still pleasant.
I entered the bathroom and heard the swish of metal doors closing behind me. I whirled around, immediately searching for a way out.
A green button blinked. “Press to open the door,” it said. Naturally, I pressed the button, just to make sure. The doors stayed shut. Liar.
“Please take a shower before exiting.”
Was there a hint of annoyance in the voice now?
My gaze swept the room. A pitcher of what appeared to be water sat on a metal stand, along with one tall glass. At the sight of water, my throat throbbed. I crossed the room and drank glass after glass until the pitcher was empty. The water was cold and sweet and pure. I felt sated afterward.
On a marble counter there was a spread of everything I needed: A bar of soap, thick white towels and a pile of clean clothes. I unfolded the clothes and found I’d been given an olive green T-shirt and matching pants.
What about shoes? I peered under the counter. A pair of what could only be called slippers awaited me. They were made of black canvas with rubber on the soles, non-slip. Christ, I’m supposed to wear those?
I peeled off my shards of clothes and dropped them on the floor. Dirt streaked my skin and gave off a mossy odor. I took the bar of soap and opened a glass door which I assumed led to the shower. It was spacious with round stones that comforted my feet. There was a tap, which I turned.
Hot water rained down from invisible spigots. Steam filled the vestibule.
TWENTY
Scarlett
I went to China Town, driving through the rain soaked streets, searching for the address of a hypnotherapist I found online. My hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. I didn’t want to go against Dr. Sinclair’s advice. I worshipped her.
But I had to know what I did to Autumn Jones. Her sudden absence from my student roster chastised me. The memory of what we’d argued about was tangled up in my mind, lost in the haze of confusion preceding my downward spiral.
I circled the block twice and found the address on a skinny brick building behind the old hotel that was rumored to be haunted. The parking lot was torn with potholes and chunks of asphalt. I decided to park on the street.
There was a dank smell in the stairway as I went down.
I knocked on a red door with the name plate: Dr. Arnold Ashbury. When no one answered, I tapped my foot eight times and went in. My pulse fluttered in my throat.
The room was cramped and square. It reeked of incense. Three green cracked vinyl chairs lined the wall across from a high counter with a bell. A gold lamé curtain covered a doorway.
I shivered.
Just leave, Scarlett, while you still can.
I rang the bell.
A short balding man came through the curtain. He wore khaki pants and a gray plaid shirt that didn’t go with the décor. I noticed he had fat hands and fingers like small sausages.
I wondered why I got myself into these situations. There was no reason I couldn’t turn around and make a break for my car. Yet, I was rooted to the floor.
“Ms. Rain?” his voice was deep and rich.
He can make anyone do anything with that voice, I thought. What if he did? Bent people to his will, while they thought they were being cured of smoking?
“You’re here for memory recovery?” he said.
I nodded.
“It’s a hundred and fifty dollars for the first session. Seventy-five after that.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Payment up front.”
“Oh… oh, I see.” I had the perfect excuse for backing out, but I pawed through my bag and found the bills I’d folded into the side pocket.
His fees had been clearly stated in his ad. He didn’t accept checks, credit cards or health insurance, so I’d stopped at the ATM machine on my way, which was my trouble. Once I got obsessed with an idea, it was hard to become un-obsessed.
He led me behind the curtain into a bigger room with no carpet to cover the cement floor. There was a glass counter containing jars of what, at first, I thought were dried spices, like sage and basil. But a sign on the wall with a green cross told me it was medical marijuana.
“Go ahead, take a look around,” Dr. Arnold suggested in his honeyed voice. “I’m not the fanciest dispensary in town but I have the best weed,” he chuckled, like I would appreciate his lack of professionalism.
“I just want to be hypnotized,” I snapped. I hoped he wasn’t stoned.
“Well then, this way,” he took me into a hall and into another room, surprisingly pleasant with light blue paneling.
There was an old wooden desk, a mini fridge, and two brown recliner chairs with a coffee table, like a living room. He gestured for me to sit. I perched on the edge of one of the chairs. I expected it to be musty or stink of cigarettes but it had a nice smell.
Dr. Arnold opened the fridge and got out two bottles of water. He gave one to me. It was cold. “Sessions can be dehydrating,” he said.
There were two framed diplomas on the wall; his hypnotherapy license and a degree from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Even though I knew they could be fakes, I felt somewhat reassured.
He’d taken care to make the room homey. There were green silk plants in the corners, a blue curtain over the high basement window. A thin slant of daylight came through.
He opened his water, took a swig and sat in the other brown chair. “Do you mind if I call you Scarlett?”
I shook my head.
“What’s your favorite color, Scarlett?”
I shrugged. “Pink?”
“Pink is your code word. Once you’re under hypnosis, you can end the session at any time, simply by clasping your hands together like this,” he interlaced his fingers to show me. “And saying pink. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Why don’t you drink a little of your water and relax into your chair.”
I did as I was told.
“Take a few deep breaths, Scarlett. Good. Now pick a spot to focus on across the room… bring your gaze a little back… about half way and stop. I’ve put on some music. It’s very soft. Can you hear it?”
There was a low melodic hum.
“Close your eyes. I will be next to you in this chair. You are safe. You know how to bring the session to an end whenever you want. You are in control. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine yourself on a beach. You are lying down, comfortable. The sunshine is warm on your face. You are calm. I am going to count backwards...”
As he counted
, warmth spread through my entire body. I was filled with a sense of well-being like I’d never had before. I wanted to stay there. On the beach.
“You are very, very relaxed, Scarlett. I want you to remember, as you are lying on the warm sand… just remember what you did yesterday and tell me.”
I licked my lips. The image was clear in my mind, and pleasant. “I woke up, in the morning. I went to work. I saw my shrink.”
“Yes. Good. Now, let’s go further back, to what took place just before the time you can’t remember. See yourself. What are you doing?”
I swallowed. “I’m in my classroom. My girls are there. The workshop girls.”
“Is this an ordinary day?”
“No,” I whispered.
“What is different about it?”
“I’m upset with one of my students. I’m angry at her. But I shouldn’t be angry. It’s wrong.”
“Why is it wrong to be angry?”
“Because… because…” A tear slid down my cheek.
“Don’t cry, Scarlett.”
“I read her diary. I was jealous.” I rubbed my temples. “My head hurts. I feel sick. I’m so eaten up by these… awful feelings. Oh,” I groaned. “I hurt so much.”
A hand pressed my arm.
“You are on the beach, Scarlett. You don’t hurt. The sky is blue. There are no clouds. You are remembering something that has already happened and it is okay. It’s over. Take a drink of water… there.
“Breathe deeply. When you are ready, I want you to open the diary and tell me what it says.”
I slumped forward. The diary was small and black. I stared at Autumn’s writing.
“What does the diary say, Scarlett?”
“Nothing. I can’t understand a word of it.” And yet, my mind raced.
Memories scattered like old photos; my mother’s torn wedding dress on the floor in the attic, bloodstained sheets, a box of knives.
One knife missing…
I gasped. I clasped my hands together. “Pink. Pink…”
Devon
I sat on the edge of the narrow bed. And waited.
It seemed like a long time before a man and a woman, both dressed in black, wearing combat boots and looking official, came in. The woman had long red hair tied in a ponytail. I immediately thought of Scarlett and a terrible longing came over me.