Forgotten

by Sarah J. Pepper

  “Jace!”

  “You carelessly give away your love, like you’d never been hurt, but when life gets tough, you abandon everyone who has ever cared for you,” Jace said.

  His hand was on my back, but he didn’t rub away the tension like before. Nevertheless, he did what I wanted; he took away my physical pain. My breathing became under control. My body stopped fighting itself. I just wished my mind would follow suit.

  “I’m sorry!” I screamed. “I’m sorry, so sorry Jace, but I don’t remember you! I didn’t know you before the bowling alley! I never knew you, Jace. I’m not trying to play hard to get. I’m not Deino!”

  Jace said nothing. He removed his hand when the signs of my body fighting itself were over. Telling him I didn’t remember him was the worst possible thing I could have said, and I knew it. However, the reason I said it wasn’t to hurt him, he needed to know. Even if it was just in my dreams, he needed to know the truth.

  I gripped the sand like the world would expel me if I didn’t hold on for dear life. It wasn’t because my body was starting to rip itself apart again, it was because my heart was breaking – not because I was sure I’d just broken Jace’s, but because of the guilt in my soul; every regret, every failure, and every time I let someone down surfaced in my mind.

  Pebbles shifted through my fingers. Each one represented a missed opportunity to do something important with my life. I cried into the sand, begging to understand this life I was dealt. I understood nothing, I understood that. I made everything complicated even when I wasn’t trying. I made my dreams confusing when they didn’t need to be. I made life difficult; I lived when no one else survived. I saw my sister’s blood in my mind, but couldn’t do anything to help her. My parents died; By some miracle, I was saved. Instead of doing great things with my life, I was a nobody in school. I hadn’t done anything great or helpful. I was a coward and a runaway. The visions haunted me like they were ghosts of my past. Their death’s haunted me, like my visions. I survived when no one else did, which was the biggest shame of all. I was the only pitiful survivor, and I’d done nothing with my pathetic existence. Now my dreams showed me a world where I could be happy and lie in the arms of someone who cared for me, but I still fought him and myself. I couldn’t allow myself to be happy for a single moment, because I was too heavy with guilt, just for living.

  Tears soaked into the sand as I screamed apologetically. I couldn’t remember Jace – not because I hadn’t wanted to – but because I simply didn’t. That was the truth – the honest truth.

  “You truly have no memory of me?” Jace asked.

  My body trembled. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t get out more than a squeak. I refused to let myself get in the way when he took me in his arms. As if given a remedy, I instantly let go of my inflicted agony. He rocked me while I lay against his chest. Listening to the sound of his heart beating, I became to feel relief, comfort, and safety.

  “My body is aged, and my soul is broken,” I whispered, like it was a phrase in a song. I frowned, wondering why I’d just said something poetic like that. I felt like it, but I wasn’t one to speak in riddles.

  “So give me a taste of your kiss, and let me be reborn into a life of eternal passion.” Jace said, speaking in the same melody. He rested his chin on my forehead and rocked me. My skin started to prickle with hope. “You’re in there somewhere, hiding from yourself, aren’t you, dearest?”

  ***

  Bree was holding up a wall in the waiting room, when I walked out of the doctor’s office. She had the decency not to ask me what the doctor said about my sight. My eyes were perfectly fine, no changes. I told him about seeing a select few people as white figures instead of normal shades of gray. He patted my hand and asked how I’d held up since celebrating the anniversary of my family’s death.

  “If I wanted to talk about that, I’d go to a therapist, not an optometrist. You’d think a person with a doctorate degree would understand that I wanted his services for my eyes not my head,” I said in frustration as Bree and I walked out of the office.

  She bought me breakfast at the coffee shop. She rattled on and on about something Ryker said after I finished venting about my pointless doctor visit. I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to cool off from the appointment when a white figure, a few booths down, caught my attention. I was being watched.

  My insides went cold. Instead of making a scene in front of Bree, I waited for her to go to the bathroom before confronting the person, who looked like the white figure I’d seen spying on me from my foster’s house.

  “I’m the Rippler,” he said and offered his hand.

  My skin tingled as the air vibrations hit me. I became nauseated. The last thing I wanted to do was touch him.

  Brown curls twisted over his pale blue eyes as he laughed. My aging skin crawled as he wrapped his hand around my wrist. He was taller than me but only by a few inches. Another woman with tanned skin and coffee brown hair watched as he lifted me from my seat on the grassy field. The sweet scent of lilies filled the air.

  Three spears shone in the light. Their tips were thrown into the ground. The woman with wavy coffee-colored hair walked over and touched the spear. It disappeared instantly.

  “You won’t be threatening my sister with these, not yet Rippler,” she said.

  The athletic man danced me around the meadow. “You recall everyone’s past, even the darkest parts?” the Rippler asked softly.

  “Your tolerance has never been very good with me,” the man stated and dimmed himself as he withdrew his hand. He cocked his head to the side, only to brush his curly hair back. “Well, at least the Healer isn’t lying; you’re not ready to meet her yet.”

  “Who?”

  “The Master.”

  I cringed at the mention of her name but said nothing. He looked over his shoulder a moment after Bree walked out of the bathroom, toward us. He excused himself, while I stood dumbfounded.

  “You ready for another torture session?”

  “What?” I gasped. Had I blacked out and told her about Jace?

  “School,” she said plainly.

  We walked out of the coffee shop and into her pickup. The door squealed like always when I shut it. I said nothing as we drove to the lone brick building. I was silent as we pulled into the parking lot. I grabbed my backpack, and hopped out of the vehicle. I started to unfold Stella, when she stopped me. After offering her hand to guide me, I followed her up the stairs. Students filed in around us. We stopped in front of our lockers to drop off our backpacks and grab the needed text books.

  History was my first period class – my favorite subject by a landslide. I didn’t even mind Mr. Tinsley, the teacher, even though his voice was monotone. I swore he tried to put his students to sleep, but the indifferent sound of his voice, really described the essence of history itself. The big, disastrous events were no more important than the seemingly unimportant ones. In the grand scheme of things, people, places, and events would eventually all become a distant memory destined to repeat itself.

  “You need a girl’s night,” Bree said, diagnosing me as being entirely too stressed out.

  “Can’t, I have plans tonight.” I closed the locker door.

  “So cancel,” she said.

  “Are you trying to weasel out of our date?” Jace said, approaching us.

  Bree squealed. I softly jabbed her in the side, hoping to convey the message ‘Don’t make this a big deal.’ She must have got the message, because she excused herself and left for class. I shut her locker door and wondered briefly if she’d realize she forgot her books before the bell sounded. Jace leaned against the locker door and crossed his arms.

  “It’s not a date,” I said to Jace, as I dug out my special edition world history book. “You’re coming over only to get the police files, so you can do more research about… their murders. No one should be home if you come right after school.”

  “Pretending that I’m your boyfriend is the perfect alibi if anyon
e asks why I’m coming over, dearest.”

  “As long as we both understand it’s just an alibi.”

  ***

  That evening, the Thompson’s doorbell rang ten minutes to seven. I’d been pacing the living room for the better part of an hour, and was closest to the front door. Max howled until I opened it. Jace slid off his sunglasses and stepped into the house before I welcomed him inside. Max sniffed him like he wasn’t sure whether or not to allow him inside until Jace kneeled down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. That won Max over.

  “I told you to be here shortly after school, before everyone got home,” I whispered.

  Jace stood. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to me. “I’m running a touch late; Sue me.”

  “You’re not staying long,” I said stubbornly. “I’ll grab the files and be back in a few.”

  “Who’s there, munchkin?” John called from the kitchen.

  I sighed. Jace chuckled.

  “Just a friend from school.”

  “Is Bree hungry, dear?” Martha asked, walking into the hallway. She stopped when she noticed that my friend was not my long-time girlfriend.

  “Jace – Jace Eatros,” he said, and extended his hand.

  “Nice to meet you; Are you staying for supper?” she asked, shaking his hand.

  I groaned. I knew they’d met the night I ditched Jace at Circus and had to crawl into my bedroom via the old tree house. They were both god-awful liars.

  “Of course he is,” I said, unable to think of any other reason why he’d show up at this particular hour.

  Jace held his jacket up to me once more. I grabbed it and shoved it on a hanger inside the closet. When I walked past them, Jace reached for my hand. It stopped me dead – not because I was having an adverse reaction to touching him, but because it felt completely normal. My cheeks instantly warmed. I looked at my feet and was pleased that I’d worn my hair down. It hid my rosy cheeks.

  Martha led us throughout the house and pointed out the different rooms – a mini house tour. John and Elsie busied themselves in the kitchen, following whatever direction Martha dished out. She refused to let Jace or me help, so we sat in the dining room pretending the situation wasn’t awkward.

  “You know holding my hand isn’t necessary,” I whispered.

  “I’m just playing the part,” he whispered. He squeezed my hand. His voice sounded like he was promising me the world, instead of pointing out the obvious problems with our choice of alibi. He had every reason to be touchy-feely.

  “You were supposed to come over just for the police records. There was nothing in our agreement about you staying for supper,” I said.

  “You’re the one who invited me.”

  “A mistake on my part,” I said, even though my skin warmed; it was like I could physically feel that he was delighted to know he annoyed me. I groaned. The definition in his face changed. A smirk grew on his face as he shrugged his shoulders. He released his grip on my hand, and a wave of pure utter loneliness washed over me. The longer he’d been around me, the colder I felt whenever he left. I clenched my hands together to stop myself from subconsciously reaching for him.

  “Well, if you don’t think it’s necessary for me to stay, I’ll just grab your homework notes and eat something from Mickey Dee’s,” Jace said loudly.

  “I haven’t let anyone leave my house hungry in over two decades. I’m not about to start now, especially if fast food is the other option,” Martha said, bringing a few side dishes into the dining room. The smell of fresh-made bread followed her. She gave me a not-so-subtle pinch on my arm before leaving to bring in the rest of the meal.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson,” Jace said humbly, and scooted his chair closer to mine.

  Elsie brought an extra glass and plate. They rattled the entire way from the kitchen to the dining room. She set them on the table by Jace and then hurried around to the table’s other side. She nearly knocked over Martha who was carrying in green-bean casserole.

  “So how did you and Winnie meet?” John asked casually as he carried the lasagna to the table.

  “Art class,” Jace said without hesitation. “Apparently, someone sat in someone else’s seat, and she wasn’t exactly receptive - but fell madly in love shortly after.”

  “Actually, we met at the bowling alley,” I said. “And you struck out that night.”

  “But it didn’t stop me from winning you over, dearest,” he said and reached for my hand under the table.

  I wanted to slam it away, but that would have looked bad being that Jace was acting as my boyfriend. He took my hand in his and brought it to his face. The moment he kissed my hand, my mouth went dry. I bit my tongue to bring myself back to sanity. I barely heard him whisper a phrase in another language. Listening to the captivating sounds of his voice, made it difficult for me to breath. The familiar words drew me closer to him, which was exactly why I pulled away. I simply didn’t trust him, or myself for that matter.

  “Your fervor beckons me,” Jace whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

  A scarlet petal fell from the sky like a feather. It drifted back and forth. Someone behind me blew it lightly, making it twirl in the air. One after another, petals rained around me. I laughed, loving the shower.

  “Close your eyes,” the young man whispered. His voice was strained like he was having a difficult time controlling himself.

  I obeyed and waited eagerly. Using a single petal, he caressed my lips with it. It felt as smooth as Jace’s lips on my hand.

  It was a perfect moment I’d eventually get around to living… someday I’d be blissfully happy. I was about to strike up a conversation about anything mundane, like school, when the vision of my death shook my concentration.

  His chocolate brown eyes didn’t radiate with vengeance as he pressed a knife to my chest. They glistened with tears. His dark brown hair shimmered, like gold had been melted into each strand. The sight would’ve been utterly breathtaking if sand and sweat hadn’t dried into his hair as well. A bloody gash under his left eye interrupted his otherwise perfectly tanned skin.

  Burnt oranges, soft yellows, and deep reds surrounded the sun as it neared the horizon. My time was quickly slipping away. A hint of scorched wood piggybacked the wind while smoke crawled over the blood-soaked dirt.

  I reached up with my gnarled, weathered hand and gently stroked his face. Hiding in the sheer beauty of his eyes rested his tortured soul – screaming for forgiveness. His tears trickled onto my aged skin as he shoved the blade deeper through my chest. I struggled to breathe. My vision darkened at the edges.

  Jace squeezed my hand twice like he was trying to bring me back into the present. I looked around me. Martha was holding a plate of food out in front of me. I took it from her and hoped no one had asked me a question. Once I set the plate down, I reached for my glass. I took a drink. Lemonade moistened my dry throat.

  He reached for my hand again. I couldn’t think of any good reason not to let him hold it. His thumb brushed over my skin. I could about see the thoughts running through his mind. He pulled my hand into his lap. His thumb rolled over my wrist and another vision stole me away from my reality.

  Warm, brilliant red liquid seeped into my pink blanket. I was a young child, an infant. Lightning flashed the night sky while rain pelted the roof only to stream down the window beside me. My screams competed with the thunder. But no one listened to me, not even the wrinkled old man, who held a bloody knife in one hand and a cane in the other. Blood gushed from a young girl next to me. My pink blanket turned red. Colors blurred until everything melted into a shade of gray.

  I sat in silence wondering if I was ever a good person, or if my morals simply turned south the longer I lived. I wondered what the man in my vision meant to me, while Jace struck up a conversation with John about who’d win the Super Bowl this year.

  Stroking his thumb over my knuckles, Jace relaxed me until my haunting thoughts dissipated. His comfort was so utterly soothing I alm
ost thought I’d been drugged. I went through the motions of eating, while Jace entertained my foster parents. Elsie and I were two peas in a pod; we barely mumbled a word.

  Martha had tasked Elsie to be the official dish drier, while John washed. She refused to let Jace or I help. It begged the question – how charismatic had Jace been over supper to forbid him from cleaning up afterwards?

  “Feel better?”Jace asked, after supper ended.

  “You drugged me somehow, didn’t you?”

  “You were in distress,” Jace said, unapologetically. “Are you upset that you couldn’t hide your anxiety, or that I helped you overcome it?”