Not wanting to go back to sleep, I made my way down the stairs to the piano room as quietly as I could and sat on the bench. I was relieved to find the normally-occupied rocking chair vacant, which meant that Gabe must have come inside while I was sleeping. I was relieved that I hadn’t woken him.
I don’t know what I was hoping to find in that room, but I felt such a sense of peace just sitting on that bench that I stayed there. Unfortunately it did little more than raise more questions, so I eventually got up and left. I soon found myself sitting on the front porch steps, staring out over the field.
“How am I ever going to make sense out of this?” I sighed, hanging my head. I caught it in my hands, elbows propped up on my lap.
“Sense of what?” a voice asked. I startled, shooting up to my feet. All that did was earn me a sharp, stabbing pain in my ankle and an inelegant collapse back down to the steps. “Jesus!” Gabe shouted, rushing up to the house. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I lied, wincing in pain.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Yes, sneaking up on me silently in the dark would have been a much better solution,” I said with a pained laugh.
“Yeah, maybe not.” He sat down next to me, taking my bad ankle into his lap and looking it over. “This needs some ice,” he noted, placing my foot back down on the step. Without another word he was on his feet, heading back into the house. He returned shortly thereafter with an ice pack.
“A girl could get used to this kind of service, you know,” I joked as he sat beside me and returned my foot to his lap. He placed the ice pack on top of my ankle, doing what he could to wrap it around to cover more area. His hand rested on my leg for a moment or two before he seemed to realize that it was there and quickly removed it.
“So tell me, what were you trying to make sense of?”
I exhaled, uncertain that I really wanted to have this conversation again. The last thing I needed was to scare him with my crazy dreams and find myself out on my own. With no money and no memory, I doubted I would last very long.
“My dream.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh’ seems about right.” I hesitated for a second, then decided I might as well throw it all out there. “I sort of had one that felt the same as last time, but it was clearer. I heard voices. Felt things.”
“Okay,” he said thoughtfully.
“I know what you said last time…about them not necessarily being memories but maybe representations of something else. It’s just that I can't make heads or tails out of it because I can’t remember anything about my life to give it any sort of context.”
“Well, I can tell you what my father used to tell me about dreams,” he started. His dark brown eyes searched mine as he spoke. “My father was Native American, descended from the Sioux, and steeped in their traditions. Dreams were never random, but rather a way of trying to connect with the subconscious. It could be to warn you of something, like a premonition of sorts, or unresolved feelings or tensions surfacing in a figurative way.”
“That doesn’t really help me though, does it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He took my hand in his and stared at me, leaning in closer. “Close your eyes.” I looked at him, my uncertainty apparently reading in my expression. “Do you trust me?” he asked, running his thumb across the top of my hand.
With a sigh, I did as he asked and closed my eyes.
“Try doing anything untoward and I’ll beat you with a crutch,” I deadpanned. Judging by the laugh he choked out, he'd called my bluff.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Fire…coals…ash…”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere dark. It’s night, I think. Maybe it’s just the smoke. I can’t tell.”
“How do you feel?” he asked.
My body tensed in a flash.
Rage…
“I’m angry,” I replied, my voice low and husky. “I’m so, so angry.”
“Good.”
“It doesn’t feel very good.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m saying it’s good that you remember this. We can work with that.”
“But why am I angry? Why am I standing in a wasteland of fire?” I groused in frustration. I opened my eyes to find him assessing me.
“Close them,” he ordered. A flash of defiance shot through me.
“No. I’m not doing this anymore. It’s stupid.”
“Yes you are, and you need to close your eyes for it to work,” he maintained.
I yanked my hand from his.
“I need to remember who the fuck I am,” I shouted, “not sit around on your front porch, holding hands with you. This is pointless. Absolutely fucking pointless.” I tried to get up only to stumble and have to catch myself on the railing. My embarrassment only fueled my anger.
“You just—”
“I don’t need to ‘just’ anything, Nico. What I need is for you to back the fuck up off me and leave me alone.”
I snatched up my crutches and hopped across the front porch while I placed them under my arms. I’d already open the door and made my way into the living room before Gabe’s words stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Who is Nico?” His tone was neutral, but when I turned to look back at him, something was brewing inside of him. “You said his name the night you woke up screaming too. Who is he?”
I closed my eyes and rolled the name over and over again in my mind.
Nothing.
“I don’t know.” My voice was empty and hollow, which mirrored exactly how I felt. Yet another clue that meant nothing to me. Did nothing to help me. It all just seemed so hopeless.
Gabe walked toward me, his body tense. Slowly he reached his hand out toward my arm, pointing to one of the many bruises it boasted.
“Did he do this?” His question seemed a formality. Judging by his expression, he’d already convicted this unknown man of the crime. I said nothing in response, which did little to dissuade his interrogation. “Did he do this?” he pressed, leaning his face down toward mine.
“I. Don’t. Know,” I replied with clipped words. My anger and frustration were mounting.
“We need to find him,” he said, the hard set of his jaw working furiously. “We need to find him now.” With that, he pushed past me toward the kitchen and reached for the phone.
“Who are you calling?” I demanded.
“The sheriff.”
“No!” I shouted. “I told you, no cops. I don’t know why, but no cops.” He started dialing despite my objection. “Goddammit, Gabe! Put that fucking thing down!”
“So it’s Gabe now?” he mocked, turning away from me as I advanced toward him in an attempt to snatch the phone. Every time I reached for it, he strategically maneuvered out of my way.
High school quarterback indeed.
“Why are you doing this?” I cried, hanging from his arm like a monkey from a tree.
“Because that name is the best clue to finding out who you are and the asshole that did this to you, so whether you like it or not, I’m making this call. It’s for your own good.”
The second those final words left his mouth, I saw red.
“For my own good? You have no fucking idea what that even means.” I spewed those words at him like the venom they were meant to be. “You think you know what's best for me? Wrong. Nobody does. You don’t have the faintest idea what my life is like—how your rules and your oppression affect me. I’m suffocating right before your eyes and you don’t even see it. Or worse yet, you just don’t care.”
He lowered the phone and looked at me like the crazy person I was.
“Listen, I—”
“I will not listen, Nico!” I screamed, throwing a mug from the counter across the room. The sound of it shattering was a balm to my soul. “All I ever do is listen, but you never say anything. All you do is order me around and hold me d
own, and I’m sick of it. You can’t do it anymore. I won’t let you!”
With crutches tucked under my arms, I stormed through the living room toward the staircase, the fire in my belly roaring like a caged beast about to be let out. I knew he was calling for me—following me—but I couldn’t make anything out. All I heard was the rush of blood in my ears and the pounding of my heart against the ribcage that oppressed it. I didn’t care what he had to say—how he would defend his actions. I’d heard his rationale too many times to count and I was sick of it. My outburst had been growing inside me for what felt like a lifetime, and the sensation of relief that washed over me the second I let it out was euphoric. I would not let anything ruin it.
I hopped up the stairs as quickly as my sprained ankle would allow, cresting the top in record time. Then reality slapped me in the face. Before me stood Gabe’s mother, staring at me with wild eyes.
“The storm’s comin’,” she said in a low, conspiratorial voice. Then she turned and walked back into her room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
My body shook with fear when my mind finally came back to me from whatever memory I’d just relived; or whatever fantasy I’d wanted to live out but never had. I couldn’t tell which. All I did know was that I’d just had a complete break with reality, and in the process I’d alienated the one person trying to help me through all that I’d been through.
Mortified barely scratched the surface of how I felt.
I rushed into my room and slammed the door closed. My breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and my body had broken out into a cold sweat. Something was very wrong with me.
“I’m losing it,” I said to myself as I leaned against the bedroom door.
Then I felt the reverberations of Gabe’s footfalls on the stairs, and I locked the door. No way was I ready for that conversation. Once again I found myself without the words necessary to explain.
And I feared I’d never find them.
Sitting on the edge of the guest bed, I tried to piece together what had just happened—what demon I had just exorcised on an unsuspecting party. Clearly Gabe wasn’t the intended recipient of my wrath. Whoever Nico was, it seemed he was persona non grata, but why? Why him? Why was I so angry with him?
Why was the question of the day.
Something else that I couldn’t ignore was my extreme shift in personality during my rant. The swearing—the harsh tone—that wasn't me, was it? Was that what I normally sounded like? How I spoke to others? If so, I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember that, let alone become that angry, hateful person again. I could feel that rage come out of nowhere, the depths of it almost bottomless. It was clear that it had been bottled up for a long time. Once again I wondered why.
I lay back on the bed and curled in on myself, feeling scared and horrible and embarrassed, not only at what I’d just done, but about who I might actually be. The type of person I truly was. It left me silently wishing that I wouldn’t ever regain my memory. That maybe I could just start over and never see another glimpse of that awful person I’d just let out.
She frightened me.
She seemed capable of horrible things.
Chapter 10
The orange glow of sunrise flooded my room, waking me before I was ready to face the day. In fairness, I didn’t know that I’d ever be ready for what I needed to do. An apology of that magnitude wasn't going to be easy to deliver, if it was even possible at all. The only positive I could find was that I hadn’t been flooded by dreams of fire. From what I could remember, I hadn’t dreamt at all.
Given the hour I wasn’t sure if Gabe would be downstairs or already out working, so I rushed to get myself ready and made my way down the staircase. His mother was sitting in her chair, staring out the window as I’d expected she would be. She did not stir at my presence. For a moment I just stared at her, wondering if she would ever fully emerge from her trance-like state. Then I wondered what she would say if she did.
That thought made me shudder.
I turned to make my way toward the kitchen only to find Gabe looking at me from the living room. There was no hint of emotion in his expression, and the lack of it made my heart sink. I feared my outburst had ruined everything.
“Hi,” I said softly, a flush of embarrassment flooding my cheeks as I spoke.
Silence.
I hesitated for a moment before advancing toward him, crossing the threshold between the living and piano rooms. He stood unmoving and unfazed. All I wanted was to see a break in that hard façade—a chink in his emotional armor—but I found none.
“I…I don’t really know what to say, Gabe,” I started, my voice heavy with guilt.
“I think you said the bulk of it last night.”
His words cut like a knife, and I winced at the pain their truth caused us both.
“You have to know that I wasn’t talking to you,” I blurted out, lunging toward him only to stumble in the process. I crashed to my knees and stayed there, my head hung low in defeat as I gathered myself, preparing some kind of explanation that might be helpful in my defense. “I don’t know who Nico is, and I don’t know why I'm so angry with him, but I know that those words weren’t really meant for you. Something triggered that reaction—something you said—and after that, I barely remembered anything until I sat down in my room upstairs and played the events over in my mind.”
“My friend at the sheriff’s office is looking up any record of a Nico in a four-state radius. He said he’ll push it out even further if need be,” Gabe said plainly. “He’ll find him eventually, Trouble. Then you’re going to have to face whatever life you're hiding from.”
“I’m not hiding,” I protested, trying to pull myself up on my crutches. Once I was upright, I looked at Gabe, whose expression was full of pity.
“Not anymore.” His reply was soft and sad, and it made my heart stop for a beat.
“You think I’ve been lying to you this whole time,” I said, my tone laced with disbelief.
“I think you saw a chance to start over and took it.” He reached up to push my wayward curls from my face, his hand lingering for a second or two longer than necessary. “I don’t blame you for it. Whoever did this to you…he’s going to be punished, make no mistake about that.”
“I’m not lying,” I argued, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I need you to believe that, Gabe. Please tell me you believe that.”
“I want to. I really do, but the way you lashed out last night—the way you’re so afraid of me calling the cops—I’d be a fool not to see what’s going on. The most likely answer to a problem tends to be the obvious one. And this one seems pretty damn obvious to me.”
“I’m so sorry for what I said,” I said with a wavering voice. “But I am not lying to you. I almost wish I were because it would be easier to live a lie than a question mark, and that’s what my life is right now. One big question mark that I can’t seem to erase. I can’t tell you how maddening and scary and frustrating it is to feel like your brain is begging you to put the pieces together but you just can’t. All you’re left with is a mess of confusion.” I paused for a moment to assess his expression but found nothing helpful there. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. I’ll walk out the door with the clothes on my back and never turn back. That’s fine. But if that’s what you want, then at least do me the courtesy of telling me you believe me first, because the thought of you thinking I played you is more than I can bear, Gabe.”
A hint of doubt furrowed his brow.
“You’d really walk out? Just like that?”
“I don’t know what other choice I have. You think I’m a liar…that I’ve conjured up amnesia out of convenience to escape some unsavory life. Were you going to let me stay if that’s true?” He stared at me silently, not answering my question. “Exactly, so if I’m going to go, I’m going to do it with the last shred of dignity I still have.” Still he said nothing.
I swallowed back the reality of the situation—that I was about to leave the safe
haven I’d happened upon to face the unknown—but I'd played that card. Now I’d have to follow through with it.
Balancing my weight on one crutch, I reached up and cupped his face with my hand.
“I’m so sorry about everything,” I whispered while pressing up onto my toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Gabe.”
With that, I turned and made my way to the front door. I heard no footsteps behind me. That fact only made my tears fall faster.
The screen door gave way as I pressed against it, letting me out onto the porch. I hopped down the warped stairs onto the dirt driveway, and continued on toward the main road. I never looked back.
My pride wouldn’t let me.
I don’t know if I was secretly hoping that he would run from the house, declaring that he’d been a judgmental asshole, or if he’d just come after me and apologize, but as I wobbled my way down the rutted driveway, it became apparent that neither was going to occur. The closer I got to the main road, the farther my heart fell into the pit of my stomach. I thought I’d called his bluff, but in reality, he was calling mine.
Making matters worse, the sky was darkening in the distance, another fall storm coming to rain on my parade. It was exactly what I didn’t need. With only a few feet until I reached the pavement of the main road, the wind picked up, rustling the debris in the fields across the street from Gabe’s property. The remnants left behind from the last storm we’d encountered.
“Wait!” a voice called from the house. I turned to find Gabe standing on the porch looking in my direction. I was too far away to make out his expression, but he appeared tense and rigid in his posture. I wasn’t sure that boded well for me.
Moments later, he jogged down the steps and the driveway toward me. I was both elated and terrified at the possibility of what he was going to say or do, but I waited to find out regardless. And I didn’t have to wait long.
He stood before me, his hand raking through his hair repeatedly, as though he could somehow erase his doubt if he just did it enough. His expression was tight and pained when he finally looked at me. It hurt to see him that way.
Live Wire (Blue-Eyed Bomb #1) Page 10