by Amy Cross
“It's just pasta,” he continues, interrupting me, “and some meat and a kind of sauce, but it's kinda fancy and, well, it took me a really long time. I just figured that if we're going to get things back to how they were in the old days, we need to make an effort.”
“Craig,” I say cautiously, “this is beautiful, but -”
“Wait, there's more!”
He hurries to the other end of the table, and then he comes back with a small jewelry box. Opening the lid, he shows me a beautiful little silver necklace.
“I know you think I can't ever pick out anything nice for you,” he continues, removing the necklace from the box, “but I think I might have done pretty well this time. I spent a long time in the store, and I admit I had some help from the woman behind the counter, but still...”
He steps behind me and carefully puts the necklace around my neck, and I can tell that he's nervous.
“Do you like it?” he asks after a moment. “If you don't, we can take it back. We can go tomorrow and you can choose something else.”
“It's beautiful,” I reply, looking down at the necklace before turning to him. “You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble.”
“I spent four years searching for you,” he reminds me. “Four years, Emily. People told me I was crazy, they said you were gone forever, but I never gave up. Every single night, I had faith that eventually you'd come back. Even when my guys found you and took you back to the hospital, the doctors still said that you might be gone forever on an emotional level. But I knew you'd fight, and I knew we'd get our lives back, and things are only going to get better. I've even booked us tickets for a trip next weekend. We're going to spend a few days in a cabin by the beach. Just you and me, and a view of the ocean, and maybe a few pesky crabs nipping at our feet.”
He steps closer and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“Does that sound like something you'd like to do?” he asks.
“I...”
“It's something you used to like,” he continues. “It's something we can do together. To get our spark back.”
I shudder at the thought of spending a romantic evening with Craig, but at the same time I know that's not fair of me. He's put so much effort into all of this, and I can tell that he genuinely cares. At the same time, I also know that he wants us to start a family again, and that he won't be happy until I'm pregnant. When he first mentioned the idea, I felt as if he was trying to replace Charlie, but now I realize that he's just trying to recapture the magic we had before. The problem is, I don't remember that magic too well.
He moves his hands down to my elbows, still holding me.
I just have to do this.
Maybe the magic can be reborn.
“The filled pasta came from that deli on Main Street,” he explains as I take a seat. “So the meal's not completely home-made, although I did everything else by hand. I guess that might be disappointing, but I wanted to balance effort with outcome. If I'd tried to do the pasta myself, it would have ended up... Well, I guess you remember how things go when I try to make anything too complicated. It sure as hell wouldn't have been some kind of perfect fairy-tale dinner.”
“Sure,” I reply, even though I don't remember anything about his cooking at all.
He makes his way around the table and grabs the wine bottle.
“May I?” he asks.
“I'm not sure I -”
“Just a glass or two,” he continues, smiling as he pours one for me and then one for him. “You don't want me to drink alone, do you? Seriously? At dinner?”
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, but suddenly a memory comes flooding back into my mind.
“You want me to drink alone?” I remember my friend Elizabeth asking, as we sat on a blanket in the park one day many years ago. “Seriously? At lunch?”
“I remember that day,” I whisper.
“What was that?” Craig asks, taking a seat opposite me.
“Suit yourself,” Elizabeth told me. “But for God's sake, stop worrying about Charlie. Pam's watching him.”
I remember turning and looking toward the lake, and seeing Charlie playing with Pam and some children. For the first time since I came home from the hospital, I think I'm actually able to remember those final few moments before I spotted him floating in the lake. A shudder passes through my body as I think back to the way the sunlight caught the lake's surface, and then I turn and see that Craig is watching me with a hint of concern.
“Is it too much?” he asks cautiously. “Emily? Honey? Is this all too stressful for you? Did I go too fast?”
“No,” I stammer, although in my mind's eye I'm rerunning that awful day over and over again. “I just...”
My voice trails off as I remember crashing into the water and grabbing Charlie's body.
I flinch.
“It'll get cold if we wait too long,” Craig points out, sounding less and less sure of himself. “I think it should be pretty good, though. That deli's got a great reputation.”
“Sure,” I reply, picking up my knife and fork even though I feel sick to my stomach. “It looks lovely.”
“And then we can relax,” he continues. “Just you and me. Man and wife, spending some quality time together. I've really missed that, Emily.”
“Me too,” I tell him, even though I hate lying.
“To a fresh start,” he adds, raising his glass for a toast. “To new beginnings and all that jazz.”
He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to say something.
“Right, honey?” he adds finally.
“To new beginnings,” I mutter, holding my glass out until it clinks against his. “And all that stuff.”
I still have Jeannie Mackenzie's letter in my pocket. I still haven't shown it to Craig. Somehow, I don't think he'd understand.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The ceiling fan is whirring as it spins above the bed, but apart from that the room is silent. I'm flat on my back, waiting for the voice to return, and Craig is snoring next to me. Sebastian is sleeping down at the foot of the bed, and so far everything seems very peaceful and calm.
I think I can actually hear snow falling outside.
I keep running over my new memory again. It's as if thoughts of that awful day have somehow risen from the void in the pit of my mind, and now I'm starting to wonder whether more will follow. The doctors at the hospital said that my memory would get better over time, although they warned that there might still be some gaps and that I probably wouldn't be able to remember everything. So far, the amnesia has been much worse than I was told to expect, but something about tonight seems to have triggered a few thoughts. Plus, I can't help thinking about that man who accosted me in the street today.
Luke Knight.
That was his name.
And little Alice Knight.
I know them. I don't know how, or from where, but I know them. I just need to remember.
“When I was four years old,” a voice whispers in the darkness, “I almost died three times, and I remember seeing a figure watching me on each occasion.”
Is that him?
Am I remembering something that Luke once told me?
“I remember him calling to me, reaching into my mind and telling me that I had to obey. He pushed my thoughts aside and made me listen to his. I just heard these three words over and over again, until I had to do what I was told.”
No, I need to forget this.
I roll onto my other side, hoping to get to sleep. After a few minutes, however, I can already feel more memories starting to rumble to the surface, so I turn onto my back again.
In my mind's eye, I see a church. I think it's the same church I saw on the TV while I was at the hospital, so I imagine I'm simply getting different memories confused.
Why isn't this easier?
Why can't I forget and get on with my new life? Why am I stuck half-remembering things?
Suddenly Craig mumbles something in his sleep and rolls away, tu
rning his back to me. He's a heavy sleeper and although our romantic evening didn't end with the intimacy he wanted, I could tell that he felt we'd made progress. Now he's sleeping soundly and he's starting to snore. The dog is snoring too, leaving me staring at the fan and wondering whether that terrible voice is going to return.
Finally, after a couple of hours, I climb out of bed and creep out of the room. I don't quite know where I'm going, but I know I can't just stay on my back until morning. Even if the voice hasn't spoken to me yet tonight, I'm worried that it's still in my head, maybe still listening to my thoughts and working out how to exploit my weaknesses. By the time I reach the kitchen and look out at the garden, I see that snow is falling more heavily than ever, but I no longer feel as if I'm being watched. Instead, the sensation is of a presence, as if something is at the edge of my mind.
Maybe it's scared.
Maybe when I pushed it away last night and disobeyed the voice, I gave it cause for concern. Now it's as if the voice is content to simply observe me. And test me.
“Leave me alone,” I whisper.
Talking to myself like a mad-woman, in the dark kitchen.
I need to stop this.
After pouring myself a glass of water, I start drinking, but suddenly I remember Marvin back at the hospital. He seemed so relaxed while he was drinking the bleach, but I suppose that's yet another faulty memory. I know Marvin died, that much is clear, but Doctor Hamlin told me that the rest of 'my version' of those events was a kind of fantasy concocted by my addled mind.
I have to stay calm and focused.
“I always knew he'd come back for me,” a voice sobs suddenly. “I knew it in my heart! He didn't give up on any of us. He just decided to wait!”
Marie.
I remember Marie. And I remember Amanda stepping out into the road, and the truck hitting her, and...
“Stop!” I hiss, trying to get my own thoughts back under control. “You're not crazy,” I continue, making my way back across the kitchen before realizing that I can't possibly go to bed like this. “You're just having trouble telling the difference between fantasy and reality. It'll settle soon. You need to give yourself a little more time.”
I wait.
Silence.
But it's the kind of silence where there's a sense of something about to happen. A voice that's about to speak to me. And this time, what if I can't fight back? What if I end up doing something awful to Craig, or to the dog? I can't spend the rest of my life like this.
Heading to the counter, I grab Craig's laptop and open the lid. If I'm ever going to figure out what's real and what's just part of my madness, I can't hide. I have to face things head-on. It takes a couple of minutes, but I finally manage to find what I'm looking for.
The location of the Penneville Hotel in town.
***
Snow is falling faster and thicker than ever as I park the car in the hotel's lot. Christmas lights burn through the darkness, and a flickering Santa is on one of the walls, as if the whole town wants to remind me of Christmases gone by with Charlie.
Clambering out of the car, I quickly slam the door shut and trudge through the snow. I'm still wearing my nightgown under my jacket, so I imagine I look completely crazy, but none of that matters right now. Once I get into the hotel's lobby, I approach the startled girl at the desk.
“Luke Knight,” I stammer, shivering slightly. “Which room is he in?”
Her mouth opens, but she seems too shocked to say anything., her name is Alice. I need to see them both!”
“Um...” She pauses. “I'm not sure if I'm allowed to just give you his room number like that...”
“Then call him. Tell him Emily Carter is here.”
She looks up at the clock on the wall.
“Tell him!” I say firmly. “Or do I have to go and knock on every door until I find him?”
She finally agrees to give Luke a call, and I wait as she speaks to him briefly on the phone. Once she's told me he's on his way, I head back across the lobby, and after a moment I catch sight of my reflection in the dark window. I'm a complete mess, soaked and with clumps of snow melting in my hair. Somehow I neglected to change into proper shoes, so I'm still wearing the fluffy pink slippers Craig gave me when I got home from the hospital. Stepping closer to the window, I can't make out my face at all, but my silhouette looks somehow unfamiliar. It's almost as if the person staring back at me is someone else.
“Emily?”
Turning, I see Luke standing in the hallway, along with a tired-looking Alice.
Chapter Forty
“I can't leave her alone anywhere,” Luke explains a few minutes later, as he takes two bottles of water and some candy from the hotel's mini-bar. “Not even for a few seconds. I can't take the risk that Chanciechaunie might slip into her mind and take his chance.”
He glances over at Emily, who has gone back to sleep on the farthest bed.
“I have to go soon,” I whisper, taking a bottle as he sits next to me. “I left a note for Craig, but he'll be worried if he wakes up and I'm still gone.”
“Why were you acting so strangely on the street yesterday?” he asks. “For a moment, I actually started to believe that you didn't recognize us..”
I hesitate for a moment, still trying to work out whether this has been a terrible mistake.
“I've been doing some more research,” he continues, reaching into a nearby cabinet and pulling out a large notebook stuffed with Post-Its and various documents. “Obviously it hasn't been easy, and we've been moving almost constantly, but I've still managed to make a few in-roads. I'm more convinced than ever that the story of Chanciechaunie is rooted in some kind of truth.”
I feel a shiver pass through my chest as he opens the book. I want to tell him that he's wrong, that he's clutching at straws, but deep down I'm starting to think that he's onto something.
“I've seen that look before,” he says suddenly.
“What look?”
“You think I'm nuts.”
“I don't think I'm a very good judge of that right now.”
“Obviously the fairy-tale is an exaggeration,” he continues. “There's no doubt about that at all. But I'm talking about some grain of truth that might exist at its heart.”
I stare at the book in his hands.
“Show me,” I whisper finally.
“Emily, I just -”
“Show me! Before I change my mind and walk out of here!”
“There are so many different versions,” he says after a moment, coming over to me and turning the book so I can see. “After a while, it's hard to know what's real and what isn't. One of the most popular tellings of the story has Chanciechaunie as a cursed prince. According to another, he's just a goblin that dug his way up from a fiery world below. In a couple of other versions, he's one of the faces of some ancient, all-powerful god named Attaroth. I've cataloged more than two hundred distinct account of the Chanciechaunie story, each with their own variations, but I'm certain that somewhere at the bottom of it all there must be a sliver of truth. That's what fairy-tales are all about, right? They're a form of warning. This Chanciechaunie story is warning us about something.”
He turns to another page, showing various sketches of figures. Some are tall, some are short, some are hunched and some are crawling on all fours.
“Somehow,” he mutters, “there must be -”
“That one,” I say suddenly, before I can stop myself, and I reach out to point at the hunched drawing. “That's him.”
“How do you -”
“I was there,” I continue, as I start to remember a night when I was walking alone through a forest. I found a cottage, and I went inside, and there was a book filled with drawings. “Malmarbor,” I whisper. “I went to Malmarbor.”
“The town where they turned Chanciechaunie into some kind of tourist trap?” he asks. “I went there too, a long time ago. I never dared again, not with Alice, but I always felt that the place was just a joke. I mean
, did you see how they'd turn the damn thing into a huge merchandise drive? That stupid house out in the forest was nothing to do with -”
“I saw him there,” I reply, interrupting him again.
“But -”
“That's where Craig's men found me,” I continue, as I start to remember more and more. “I was in Malmarbor, I'd just come back from the house and...”
I try to work out the details, but the weather in my brain is getting cloudy again. No matter how hard I try, I can't think back to my experience in the weird little cottage, and finally I lean forward as I press my wrists against the sides of my head.
“Emily,” Luke says cautiously, “are you okay?”
“I had E.C.T.,” I tell him. “I was in a psychiatric hospital, after I was with you in Redfield. They gave me E.C.T. and now I can't remember much.”
“Electro-shock?” he replies. “That sounds barbaric. I didn't think it was still allowed.”
“It is allowed,” I stammer, “I promise you, but my memory is completely...”
My voice trails off as I remember being in that dark little cottage. I was frozen in place, with all the thoughts having been pushed from my mind, but there was someone else in the room with me. Closing my eyes, I can see myself standing in the darkness while a figure slowly walked around me. Hunched and limping, the figure seemed to be studying me, and for some reason I was powerless to react. I think I must have stood for hours, until long after the figure left me alone, and it was only the arrival of morning sunlight that stirred my mind and woke me from that strange half-sleep. After that, I ran back to town and ended up in the clutches of Craig's men.
“That I remember?” I whisper.
“Are you okay?” Luke asks.
“The E.C.T. changed my brain,” I continue, feeling as if the weather in my head has shifted again. “I forgot some things and remembered others.” I turn to him. “It's like -”
Before I can finish, I see that Alice is sitting up on her bed, staring at the door. Holding my breath, I watch as she slowly climbs out from under the covers and gets to her feet. Already, from the stiff way she's moving, I can tell that something isn't right.