Amnesty: Amnesia Duet Book 2

by Cambria Hebert

  We stood there for long seconds, both of us kind of surprised the place was just unlocked. Of course, when you lived on a private, creepy island, there probably wasn’t much reason to lock up.

  We stood there long enough that a great gust of wind pushed behind us and a few brown, crumpled leaves blew inside, scattering across the wooden floor.

  I went first, using my arm to shield Am, keeping her behind me. My free hand hovered over my lowered back.

  No one knew it, but I’d brought some heat. The cool metal of the gun was actually reassuring against the small of my back, tucked into my jeans as a promise of safety.

  I’d use it. I wouldn’t regret it either.

  The floorboards creaked under foot. The house smelled slightly stale but also of a hint of lemon. The chemical kind, the kind in cleaning supplies.

  The house wasn’t very large, but it wasn’t cramped either.

  The living room was off to our left. The hallway extended past, heading toward the back of the house, where I could see a partial view of a white refrigerator and the metal legs of a chair pushed up to a kitchen table.

  “Hello?” Amnesia called out. Her voice made my shoulders stiffen. “Is anyone here?”

  The sound of silence echoed back, that and the blowing wind that made the house groan.

  “This place needs a serious makeover,” Amnesia said, gazing around at the old furnishings. Everything was wooden, the couch had flowers on it, and the TV actually had an antenna. I wondered if it even worked.

  “This place would make a good set for a horror movie.” I noted.

  “It’s clean, though,” Amnesia said, moving through the living room and passing beneath the archway that led into the kitchen. “Like the widow cared about keeping it tidy.”

  “Maybe she was bored in between kidnapping,” I deadpanned.

  “That would be funny if it wasn’t likely true.”

  The kitchen had a white farmhouse sink, old wooden cabinetry, and ugly green countertops.

  “Look at this,” Amnesia said, letting go of my hand and going to the old-school fridge. “There are pictures.”

  The front of the appliance looked a lot like everyone else’s. Littered with photographs and magnets displaying vacation spots. There was one for Boston, one for Lake Loch, and even one for California.

  There was also a bottle opener magnet and a memo notepad with one single word scrawled across it.

  “Looks like she’s out of milk.” I noted, pointing to the paper.

  Amnesia didn’t care about the magnets or even the grocery list. She stared intently at the old, almost yellowing photographs taped to the front.

  “Do you think this was her husband?” she asked, fingering the edge of one of the Polaroids.

  My chest grazed her shoulders and back when I peered over her at the picture. It was of a man and woman. They were posing for the camera, large smiles on their faces. The man was about a head taller than the woman, dressed in a red flannel shirt and khaki pants with boots. He was holding up a huge fish on a line, clearly proud of his catch.

  He had dark, short hair, was clean shaven, and was wide with broad shoulders.

  “I heard he spent some time in the army before they moved here,” I said.

  “She was pretty,” Amnesia noted, pointing at a young Widow West.

  I made a sound. Maybe she was. I couldn’t see past the shitty things she’d done, though. Her hair was long just like it was now, but instead of gray, it was a light-brown shade. She was thin, but not as thin as she was now. Her eyes were the most different. In this picture, she had the eyes of a woman in love. A happy woman, a woman that still had her sanity.

  Her eyes didn’t look like that today.

  There was another image of the couple standing in front of a Christmas tree, the man wearing a Santa hat and red pants. And another of them dressed up, her in a white lace dress and him in a suit.

  “This must be their wedding day,” Amnesia murmured.

  “Look at this one,” I said, leaning down to the photograph that was stuck toward the bottom of the fridge, almost as if it had slid down, but no one bothered to fix it.

  I pulled it off the fridge completely, straightened, and held it out in front of Am, leaning over her shoulder to look at it with her.

  “They had a baby?” Amnesia asked, surprise making her voice rise.

  “I never heard that,” I said, puzzled.

  It was the widow and her husband standing in front of this house (which looked a hell of a lot nicer). Flowers bloomed around their feet, and both were beaming with pride. In her arms was a bundle, unmistakably a baby, wrapped up in a white blanket.

  The very top of the baby’s head was the only thing visible, and it had very little hair.

  I flipped the photo over, but there was nothing written on it. No name. No date. Nothing.

  “If they had a baby, where is it?” Amnesia asked.

  “Could be a niece or nephew. The child of whoever took this picture.”

  “Maybe,” Amnesia amended. “It’s odd…”

  “Everything here is odd, sweetheart.”

  She stuck the picture back on the fridge, and we explored the rest of the house.

  It was empty. Each room looked the same as the last, tidy, outdated, and tinged with the scent of eccentricity.

  I didn’t bother locking up on the way out. Clearly, they weren’t concerned about that kind of thing.

  “No one is here,” I told Am. “We should just go back home.”

  She wasn’t listening, though. She’d moved to the top step and was staring out over the island.

  “Amnesia?”

  “This way,” she said, the sound of her voice slightly hollow. She took off, and I scurried to keep up. At the bottom of the stairs, I caught her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  She barely glanced back before forging on, away from the house, across the yard. The ground sloped down slightly before leveling off. The sound of the waves hitting against the rocks carried on the wind, the sun shining brightly.

  We walked under trees, through tall grass, and even across bare rocks.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied and kept walking.

  From this side, I didn’t see many boaters, maybe one in the distance. This place felt truly isolated, more than I thought it could. It was like stepping back in time, like this island was a portal to thirty years ago, old and backward even compared to the slow-evolving town of Lake Loch.

  “Look.” Amnesia practically wheezed the word, halting so fast I collided into her, grasping her shoulders to keep us both steady.

  My eyes followed hers. “Is that a grave?” I asked.

  What the hell? This place was fucking weird.

  “I think so,” she whispered and started forward.

  I sighed insufferably. My girl, ladies and gentlemen. Heading toward a grave instead of running away. We walked up a slight hill. It was covered in trimmed grass and patches of dry dirt.

  In the center of a pounded-down mound was a crudely made wooden cross. It had been there a long time; the wood was faded and weathered. It was anchored very well, though, placed there with care.

  Just below the cross was a small rectangular concrete slab. It was polished a dark gray and there were a name and dates carved in the top.

  John West III

  Husband and Best Friend

  1959 – 1990

  “It must be her husband.” Amnesia noted.

  “Yeah.” I agreed. I remembered hearing his name whispered through town.

  “Look,” she said, reaching around, grabbing the front of my hoodie and pointing. “There’s another grave marker.”

  There was. This one much sadder than the one above it.

  Beloved Child

  Amnesia covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook. “She lost her husband and her baby.”

  “No wonder she’s insane,” I murmured. I actually felt sorry for the old ba
t.

  “I can’t imagine losing my husband and my child.” Amnesia’s voice was overcome with emotion. Instantly, she turned and buried her face in my chest.

  I held her close, rubbing my palm over her back as I stared down at the graves. It made sense why she never left this island. If her husband and child were buried here, if this was the place that held all the memories of the life she lived with them…

  I wouldn’t have left either.

  “It feels like an invasion to be here right now,” Amnesia confided, looking up at me with sorrowful eyes.

  “Come on. Let’s go home.” I urged, tucking her beneath my arm and leading her away from the headstones.

  “I was so sure we’d find him. Find something.”

  “We still have the dental records.” I reminded her.

  “I wanted more,” she whispered.

  I knew she was let down, but I couldn’t help thinking maybe this was for the best.

  Reaching the crude path, my feet turned toward the house and beyond it where the boat was docked. But Amnesia faltered, her steps hesitant.

  “Am?” I asked, turning back.

  The look on her face was faraway, haunted.

  Stepping close, I hunched around her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She blinked, clarity coming into her eyes. “This way,” she said, tugging me in the opposite direction.

  “I think we’ve seen enough,” I argued.

  She let go of my hand and went anyway, as though she were spurred on by something only she could see. Nervous energy crackled along my nerve endings as I followed along.

  She said nothing, and neither did I.

  She walked for what felt like forever, winding around the edge of the island, where the land nearly dropped off into the lake.

  The trees grew thicker, the sunlight dimmed by the cover overhead. I watched Am let the hoodie fall down over her hands, tucking her fingers in the fabric to shield them from the cold.

  My eyes stayed peeled, my body on high alert. Everything inside me was coiled, anticipating something… I just didn’t know what.

  “They searched the entire island?” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

  “Yes, they searched this place more than once. Nothing was ever found.”

  A few steps later, she stopped abruptly, looking up. “There it is,” she told me, terrifyingly void of emotion.

  I followed her eyes, looking up into the trees.

  There was a deer stand over us, up in the branches. Leaves fell over it, covering the old, unreliable wood with foliage.

  “That’s what I jumped from that night, the night you found me.”

  My stomach twisted. Stepping closer to the line of trees, I peered over the edge, glancing down at the water. It was rocky down there. A few feet out, the water was clearer, less dangerous. She must have jumped outward, away from the rocks.

  “I guess that proves the memory I have of jumping off it. Of running from him here, on this island.”

  I lunged forward, grabbing her, roughly pulling her against me. I wasn’t sure if I was holding her so tight for her or for me. Maybe it was both.

  “He’s not here,” I told her. “He can’t hurt you today.”

  “The memories will always hurt me. They threaten to appear any moment.”

  My heart squeezed. She was right, and I hated it.

  Amnesia pulled away and continued on.

  “Where are you going?” I said, rushing to catch up.

  She didn’t answer, just kept moving, weaving through the trees. Abruptly, she stopped again, staring off in the distance. I could see the way her breathing increased, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  Her body began to shake. She chewed her lip nervously.

  “Amnesia.” I grabbed her arm, trying to pull her close.

  “Here,” she said, resisting me. “He’s here.”

  Concern darkened my face. “There’s nothing here, baby,” I said gently. “It’s just trees and dirt.

  Her eyes flashed up to mine. “He’s here.” She insisted. “I can feel it.”

  She was creeping me out. “Okay,” I answered patiently. “Where?”

  She turned in a circle, so I did, too. “We’re missing something,” she murmured. “Think, Amnesia. Think.”

  We stood there for a long time. I watched her pace a small area over and over again. She became increasingly agitated, which was very difficult to stand by and observe.

  Veering from her pacing, she wandered over toward the edge of the island. The drop-off toward the water wasn’t as sharp. She stood with her back to me, hair blowing wildly around her face, and the giant Loch Ness on the back of the hoodie stared at me, almost mocking.

  “Why can’t I remember?” she screamed toward the water. “Why?”

  I was done with this. Done with watching her suffer.

  Rushing forward, I wrapped my arms around her from behind and pulled her tight against me. “That’s enough, Am. No more. You’re killing me.”

  She started to cry. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that wound me up so tight it hurt to even take a breath. “I just want to know,” she wailed, her knees buckling.

  I supported her weight, keeping her upright as she sobbed. I pressed my face into her neck, wishing I knew how to take this away.

  With a hiccup, she turned, wrapped her arms around my waist, and squeezed close. I pressed my hand against the back of her head.

  She cried more, then ripped away, stumbling a few feet behind me.

  I went after her. Before I caught up, she melted to the ground, sitting cross-legged and bowing her head.

  Sniffles floated around her, and my heart broke. I sank down to the ground with her, spread my legs so she was between them, and tugged her close.

  Her crying quieted until the only sounds were her heavy breathing. She wiped her face over my sleeve again and again, but I only held her tighter.

  I knew I should drag her off this hellhole island, but at the same time, I felt like she needed to sit here and cry.

  Her sudden gasp was so violent and unexpected I jerked back, looking down at her, alarmed.

  “Amnesia?”

  Blindly, she reached out, squeezing my wrist with strength I really didn’t know she possessed.

  “They searched everything here?” she asked again.

  I wanted to groan. “Yes, baby. Everywhere.”

  “Down there?” she whispered and pointed at the ground.

  I frowned. “The ground?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Beneath it.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart started pounding.

  “He’s here,” she intoned. Her fingers scratched at the dirt we sat on. “Underground. Beneath us.”

  “Help me look,” I said, scrambling to my feet and dashing away the wetness on my cheeks.

  “For what?” Eddie asked.

  “A door!” I exclaimed. “An opening! Something!”

  I didn’t wait for him, but began searching the ground for signs of something. I knew it was here. I was sure of it.

  “Baby,” he said, almost as if he felt sorry for me.

  Something inside me snapped. I jerked upright, staring him straight in the eye. My body was vibrating it shook so badly.

  “Don’t you baby me,” I half growled. “I’m telling you something is here. Believe me.” A lone tear trailed over my cheek, and I quickly brushed it away. Tears would get me nowhere.

  He blinked. Nodded firmly. “Of course, I believe you.”

  We said nothing more after that. Instead, we worked, faces downturned toward the ground.

  Flashes of the memories I had before haunted me. The sound of chains rattling, the way everything was always dark. Always cold. The almost crude wall and floor, as if it were made of jagged concrete… or rock.

  The feeling that when dim light shone down into the space, it was like heaven looking down upon hell.

  Maybe I hadn’t been kept on the island.

  Maybe I wa
s in it. Under it. Hidden somewhere no one would expect.

  “Holy fucking shit.” Eddie’s voice broke into my thoughts. I glanced up.

  He was staring down at a patch of grass, body stock still, tension radiating off his every limb.

  “Eddie?” I asked.

  He glanced up, eyes partially disbelieving, partially angry. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand to me. I went to him quickly, taking his hand, which was much warmer than mine.

  “Look,” he said, drawing me into his side, putting his arm around my middle.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked, slightly confused.

  “Notice anything different about this grass?”

  I studied it, then looked around at everything nearby. “It just looks a little greener than the rest.” The grass here was patchy, but that was just the landscape of the island, not necessarily something odd.

  “Exactly,” he murmured, then promptly blew my mind.

  Eddie leaned down, taking large handfuls of the tall, greener grass, and tugged. It gave way, lifting off the ground like a heavy carpet, folding in on itself as he straightened.

  Gasping, I stared down at the wooden platform that was hidden beneath it.

  “I was right,” I echoed, almost as if I shocked myself.

  There was a small metal ring bolted on the top of the hatch door and several large bolts that kept it bolted closed from the outside.

  Trapped.

  Locked away.

  Hidden in the dark.

  Hidden in plain sight.

  Tears filled my eyes again. Eddie made a sound and yanked me to him. “This is fucking sick,” he rasped.

  I didn’t say anything. My stomach filled rapidly with dread and this panicky, hollow sensation started to take over.

  “All the locks are undone,” Eddie observed, something that had completely escaped me.

  “Do you think h-he’s down there?” I quaked. “Hi-hi-hiding?

  His arms held me tighter, so tight it almost hurt. “I don’t know.” Suddenly, he burst into action, practically leaping on top of the door and slamming two of the deadbolts home.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looked up, his blue eyes wild. “Trapping him inside. Keeping him there until the sheriff arrives.”