by Sophie Davis
CHAPTER SEVEN
RAVEN
“What happens now?”
“Not sure yet. It sort of depends on her.”
I heard the two male voices talking, but when I opened my eyes I was alone on the couch in the living room. Silently, I sat up and saw Asher and Blake standing in the kitchen, both guys in defensive postures with their arms crossed over their chests.
“What you mean?” Blake replied. “Like which one wakes up in that living room?”
Asher waffled over the answer for a few beats, before saying, “Sort of, but it’s more complicated than that.”
“Why don’t you explain it to me?” Blake made it sound like a suggestion, but the throbbing vein in his forehead left little doubt, in my mind at least, that he would get the answer one way or another.
Asher ran a hand through his hair and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. After several false starts, he started talking. “It’s not so much a matter of who’s in the driver’s seat, as how she handles…everything. This is the first time Lila has emerged from Raven. Normally she only steps in for Lark, or at least in a controlled clinical environment that has been the case. We have never been able to extract Raven from—”
“Controlled clinical environment?” I was on my feet shouting at Asher before I’d considered the consequences of the action. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Asher hurried from the kitchen toward me. I held up my hands to ward him off, shaking my head to emphasize my point. “Don’t. Stay back and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Okay. Right. Of course.” Asher halted over ten feet from where I stood. He offered me a placating smile that I itched to smack off his face.
“Who are you? Who are you really?” I demanded.
“Raven, you know the answer to that,” he replied softly, a lilt to his voice that soothed my anger. “You know me. Right? Who am I, Raven?”
“Don’t patronize—oww, my head.” The pain was blinding, and I sensed rather than saw Asher start toward me again. “No!” I screamed. “Stay back!”
“Dude, what the hell? What are you going to—no way!”
Even with the stabbing pain inside my skull, I heard the scuffle of feet and banging of walls. I dropped to my knees and squinted against the searing sensation of my brain being poked with a hot iron.
“It’s just a sedative,” Asher growled. “It’s for her own good.”
“Give her chance,” Blake snapped back. “She just needs time to process.”
An instant later, strong arms were around me. I struck out, but the more I struggled, the tighter the hold became. When his hand stroked my hair, the touch was both familiar and foreign, reassuring and terrifying.
“I can’t imagine what’s going on inside your head,” Blake murmured in my ear.
Hot tears fell down my cheeks.
“But I’m here for you.”
“We both are,” Asher called from across the room.
“I don’t believe you,” I cried, but I didn’t know which one of them I was talking to—maybe both of them?
“Blake, she’s hysterical. Let me help her,” Asher spoke over me.
“I’m sure if you told her who you really are, it would help her,” Blake replied, his tone carefully measured for my benefit presumably.
Asher started pacing the living room, careful not to come to close to where Blake and I were huddled on the carpet. He took long, deep breaths as though preparing himself for the task at hand. Blake continued to stroke my hair, his touch evoking images in my mind: the met ball, where we—no, where Lark and he—danced without speaking a word; a cozy cabin in the Catskills where we—no, where he and Lark—made love beneath a skylight with the stars shining above; a cold winter day in Central Park, our—his and Lark’s—fingers intertwined.
The images in my head—memories?—splintered; I was like a computer on the fritz, my hard drive on the verge of collapse. One moment I saw my mother and father—Sarah and Laurence Ferragamo—in our living room in Pennsylvania. It was Christmas. Snow was falling outside the window, and a fire was roaring in the hearth. But then…the scene changed….
“Darling, our guests will be here soon, do go upstairs and change into something more suitable.”
I recognized the voice and the woman: Eleanor Kingsley.
“And a little mascara would do wonders to brighten your eyes, dear. Do not forget your contacts, please.”
The scene changed again.
“Welcome back to Montauk, Ms. Kingsley,” said an older man with a total dad bod. “My name is David.”
“I remember.” I heard the words come out of my mouth, but I didn’t recognize my own voice.
Lark’s voice?
“Of course you do,” David replied pleasantly.
A tall guy with sandy hair and warm brown eyes emerged from the large, stone building in front of us. He smiled. I smiled back.
“Lark?” David said my name like a question.
“Yes?”
“This is Asher. He will be helping me with your treatment.”
My arms and legs felt as though they were being pulled in different directions—the phrase “drawing and quartering” came to mind. Blake held me tighter, as though he alone could keep me whole. But it was Asher’s voice that brought me back to the present, to the living room at The Pines. To Lark’s apartment. To Lila’s apartment? To my apartment?
“I work with David,” Asher said softly. “Do you know who David is?”
Passages from the journal ran through my head. A tug in the deepest recesses of my mind called to me. Eyes closed, I waded through the darkness, toward a spot of light that grew brighter and brighter as I neared. And then I saw him: David. We were in a room. There was a faint whirring of machines. But I couldn’t hold on to the memory. It faded just as quickly as it had come.
“He’s your therapist,” Asher continued.
“Lark’s therapist.” I felt my lips move and the words sounded forced.
“That’s right….” Asher hesitated, and I knew the truth he was so reluctant to say.
“My therapist,” I said as Blake shuddered.
“That’s right,” Asher said again. And again, he hesitated. “He—no, we—having been helping you since the incident in Kingstown.”
“They killed Jonas.” The admission came out as a wail.
Get it together. You’re so close to the truth. Just hold on a little longer.
I straightened, and Blake’s hold on me relaxed, but he continued to rub my back as though he needed the physical contact more than I did. I met Asher’s gaze head-on. He held a pressure syringe in one hand, ready to sedate me at any moment.
“They killed Jonas,” I repeated, my voice stronger this time.
“They did,” Asher agreed. “Do you…do you remember?”
Fractured images played in my mind. The ground was covered in pine needles. I saw the boy—the boy from the stocks, the thief who tried to steal from our mines—as he stumbled through an opening in the large metal gate. His feet were bare. I wanted to scream. To warn him. But the shot rang out before I had a chance.
“No!”
He’s dead. Jonas is dead.
“The Architect, it’s his fault,” I heard myself say, the words barely audible.
“Yes, that’s right,” Asher soothed, creeping closer with that damned syringe. “Do you remember what happened next?”
No! This isn’t my life. I grew up in Pennsylvania. My mother bakes blueberry pies.
“Raven?” Asher whispered.
“Yes,” I mumbled.
Stay in control. You are the key. You must learn the truth. The rest of us already know….
“Lila,” I croaked.
“Lila…? Am I talking to Lila?” Asher asked evenly, his expression blank. But his hand twitched, the one with the sedative.
Don’t let him drug you.
“No, it’s me…Raven,” I said, my voice stronger. “Lila came after Jonas wa
s killed.”
I felt Blake shudder again.
It’s too much for him.
Blake shifted, putting his body between Asher and me. He’s protecting me, I realized.
“Good. That’s really good, Raven,” Asher coaxed. Slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal, he moved closer.
Blake repositioned himself again, curling his body around mine like he was human shield. I tried to draw comfort from his closeness. The part of me that was in love with him—the part of me that was Lark—took over. I felt her presence as my vision started to fade.
No! Don’t go! We need you.
Blinking rapidly, I fought to stay in control, to stay in the here and now.
Blake is an anchor. He loves us.
Lark was still there, in the background of my consciousness. Using her as conduit, I did draw strength from Blake’s touch. I let her memories of their time together wash over me like warm bath water. As though he knew that she was there too, Blake rested his cheek against mine. His lip quivered, but he shed no tears. He was strong. He was my anchor.
Asher placed the syringe on the coffee table and then backed away slowly. “We’re all good,” he said, gesturing toward the sedative. “Let’s just keep talking.”
I nodded. I could do this. We could do this.
“Do you remember how Lila came to be?” Asher asked.
The question was odd. Hadn’t we just covered that?
“Lila came to help me…after Jonas, I…I needed her. She’s the strong one.”
“Very good. You’re doing great, Raven.” Asher’s tone was patient, verging on patronizing.
I pursed my lips and tamped down my anger. This is part of his job, I reminded myself. And for the first time, it really hit me: Asher was a big fat liar. Not just because he’d failed to mention that he knew Lark. His lies ran much deeper than that. He wasn’t a law student. The fact that we were neighbors wasn’t an accident or happenstance. Everything that had happened to me since coming to D.C. was…manufactured.
My breaths started coming in gasps. It’s all a lie. I’m a lie. None of this is real.
“Raven….” It was Blake’s voice I heard over the pounding inside my head.
“I’m okay. I am okay,” I managed to reply. But then, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and I blurted, “I’m a lie. I’m…I’m…not…real.”
Blake squeezed me against his chest, as Asher reached for one of my hands. I recoiled from his touch, and Asher backed away. “You are very real, Raven,” he said cautiously.
“But…but my memories of my family in Pennsylvania, those didn’t happen,” I said, surprised by the clarity of my voice.
“No, they didn’t,” Asher agreed. “But you, Raven, are real. Just as Lila is real. Just as Lark is real.” He watched me closely, studying my reaction.
I schooled my features to neutral, the part of me that was Lila—it had to be her, she was the strong one, the controlled one—didn’t want him to see the fear, the confusion that warred within me.
“When? When did I come into the picture?” I asked.
Asher bit his lip and shook his head. “We don’t know for sure. We think around the time Lark turned fourteen, when she moved from Connecticut to Manhattan.”
“Why?”
Again, Asher shook his head. “We don’t know for sure,” he said again.
Is he lying? It was hard to tell.
“Who exactly is ‘we’? You and David?” I asked.
Asher hesitated, and Blake spoke up. “Tell her,” he demanded.
“You are a patient at the Montauk Institute. That’s where David and I work. The Institute specializes in mental disorders,” Asher said, measuring every word as though worried the wrong one might set me off.
At the mention of the Montauk Institute, more of Lark’s memories—of my memories—leaked through the cracks that had started forming in my mental barriers the moment the truth hit me: I was Lark. I was Lila. I was Raven.
I was eight years old, meeting David for the first time. His voice filled my head as he explained that at the Montauk Institute, I would find peace. I would learn to be whole again.
The scene changed. I was thirteen. The Kingsleys—my parents—were on either side of me, marching me up the stone steps of the Institute’s main building. David waited on the landing, offering me what me must have thought was a winning smile.
“Welcome back, Lark,” he said.
Then, as if in a dream, the scene dissolved around me. I blinked and suddenly I was in my room, in the Manhattan penthouse. People were screaming.
“You said this wouldn’t happen!” Eleanor Kingsley shouted, pieces of her blonde hair coming loose from the bun at the base of her neck.
“Calm down, Eleanor!” my father snapped.
I was sitting on my bed, my laptop opened in front of me, but I couldn’t make out the email on the screen.
It’s important, Raven. You know. You are Lark, and she is you. You know what happened that day.
The bedroom door flew open. Jeanine rushed in, David and another man I didn’t recognize on her heels. My mother rounded on them. “We trusted you! You said you could fix her!” she screamed.
I stared helplessly around the bedroom at the people I trusted most in the world—no, scratch that. There was no one I trusted anymore. I didn’t know exactly why, but the part of me that was Lila—that was Lark?—didn’t trust a single person in that room. Even Jeanine. They were all traitors. They’d all betrayed me in some way.
“We can fix her, Eleanor,” David said patiently. “Let me take her back to the Institute. We were able to suppress the memories before, we can do it again.”
“No!”
I didn’t realize that I was the one who’d spoken until everyone turned to look at me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LARK
“I’ve taken the liberty of packing for you,” my mother said, leveling me with her icy cool gaze.
“This is insane,” I replied. My insides felt like they were simultaneously winding too tight and stretching too thin.
“Lark…,” she said my name like she was tired of the sound of it. With a sigh, she continued, “This has to happen.”
“What about what I want?” I demanded. My voice was on the edge of hysterics, but I fought to rein it in. There was no debating in my house absent reason and logic.
“I assure you, this is what you want.” My mother gestured to the suitcase Jeanine had wheeled from my closet.
Without looking, I guessed that my assortment of bikinis, sundresses, and sandals had been replaced by…well, I didn’t know what the appropriate attire would be where I was going. For all I knew, the dress code was colorful velour jumpsuits on the daily.
I placed my hands on my hips. “I assure you it’s not,” I replied in the same tone she’d used.
“You need help, Lark.”
Spinning on my heel, I found my father standing in the doorway to my bedroom. I cocked an eyebrow. “I need help? You’re the one who needs help, Dad. You literally let them kill—”
“I will not stand for this insolence in my own home!” thundered my father.
Never before had I been scared of him. Never before had I thought him capable of violence, even after I learned the truth about Jonas. But he hadn’t gotten his hands dirty then. Now, the desperation rolling off him in pungent waves terrified me. My parents had already gone to extremes to protect their secrets. How far was too far in their eyes?
Maybe it was because I didn’t have anything left to lose—my parents had already purchased my one-way ticket to a mental institution—but for the first time in my life I stood up to my father.
“You’re having me committed. I think my insolence is warranted,” I fired back.
“Oh, Lark, honestly. The theatrics are unbecoming,” my mother insisted. “Think of the Montauk Institute like a spa. The chef is five-star, the beds are memory foam, the—”
“The padding on the walls is couture,” I inte
rjected.
My mother rolled her eyes and looked at my father as if to say: “She’s your daughter, you deal with her.”
“Let me make this simple for you, Lark,” Dad said, his voice eerily calm. “Either you go willingly with the four nice gentleman waiting downstairs, or I will authorize alternative measures to ensure your compliance.” His gaze locked with mine. “Either way, you will get the help you need. You will put all these childish notions of betraying your family behind you. You are my daughter—you are a Kingsley—and it is time you started acting like one.”
He folded his arms over his chest, and I mirrored the pose. “So, darling. What will it be?”
I gave my father the same adoring smile I’d given him thousands of times over the years. “When you put it that way, I guess you better tell the nice gentlemen downstairs to prepare their alternative measures. Because I am done being your daughter.”
CHAPTER NINE
RAVEN
“Raven! Raven! Follow the sound of my voice. You are safe. You need to come back to us.”
I blinked, and Asher’s face came into focus. “Lark was kidnapped, in a way,” I said softly. “She didn’t make her flight because her parents let David’s people take her to Montauk. Take me to Montauk.”
“That’s right, Raven,” Asher conceded.
“How long was I there?” I asked.
Asher sighed. “A little over a year.”
A year. I’d lost a year of my life. But not really, because my life was a façade. I, Raven Ferragamo, didn’t truly exist. Throughout the past week, I’d wondered what would happen to me once we found Lark. It was as though a part of me had known all along that our lives were tied together. And now I understood why. How. But I still had so many questions.
Weak as it may have been, I needed to lie down after Asher’s numerous bombshells. Blake seemed like he wanted to stay with me, but I wanted to be alone. Without another word to either guy, I turned and walked back to the master bedroom and closed the door behind me.