Shattered Memories

by Susan Harris

  She screamed, struggling in my arms as I tried to hold her. This was going on too long, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I was frightened of what this would do to her and curious to know who was there… had she seen who had killed her parents? Was that who she spoke to? A range of emotions rolled over her face. Grief. Anger. Guilt. The last one surprised me. She rose to her knees, untangling herself from me, and as we faced each other I placed my hands on either side of her face, supporting her. Her face was pale, and she seemed hardened, as if the knowledge had changed her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She bobbed her head slowly, and I waited patiently for her to speak. She stared at me again. “It was Theresa…”

  “What was Theresa?” I was confused but remained quiet, although horrified, while she replayed that night for me.

  “I can’t believe it was Theresa Lane who murdered my family. I saw it all happen.

  “Yes, I know. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise, Alana.” It was all I could say because my own mind was still in shock at the revelation.

  When Alana explained more details about how she’d hidden in a crawl space and that Theresa probably didn’t know she had been home, she cried again. Alana was the perfect scapegoat for Theresa’s vile actions. And she would bleed for it.

  I assured Alana that we would make sure Theresa didn’t get away with it, but Alana was too far from me, lost in unnecessary guilt.

  She kept repeating, “I deserve to die. It’s my fault Sophia’s dead.” Her eyes told the story. She wholeheartedly believed it.

  I repeated that it wasn’t her fault, but I got the sense my words weren’t getting through.

  She shook herself free of my hands and bowed her head as if she was ashamed.

  Theresa and Cormac McCarthy had worked in secret to create a serum that could cause a person to forget who they were, and act on orders given to them by those in power. That must have been what happened to Veronika. Another failed attempt to use Veronika to prove her point.

  And it begged another question. Did all those poor inmates who went off to their deaths actually die or were they used and tested for Theresa’s own personal gain until their minds crumbled like pastry under the stress of the serum? Now, I wanted to be sick. I couldn’t let Alana or Jayson or any other human being be subjected to that.

  The toilet flushed, and I prepared to engage Alana again, wanting to convince her that none of this was her fault. In her heart, she had to know that Theresa Lane would be held accountable for her actions—one way or another.

  Alana didn’t come downstairs, so I left the living room behind and climbed the stairs two at a time. The bathroom door was open, but Alana was nowhere to be found. I glanced around the landing. Two doors remained closed. One was slightly ajar. I eased it open and stepped into what I could only assume was Alana’s bedroom.

  No surprises that her room at the house and her room at the training centre were strikingly similar. Where the training centre walls had been painted a rich honey colour—each room, no matter what dorm you resided in, was painted the same—Alana’s were black. The depressing dark walls became almost hidden under an array of posters hung in an almost reckless manner. Photos of her and her family occupied areas along with some music and film posters.

  Her room at the centre had been decorated in much the same way. Photos had littered the walls there too. When we had gotten together, she added ours to the jumble. I had stripped those walls of any evidence of our relationship and kept them in a box in my room. It only added to the many times I became thankful that neither of us shared a room. Alana’s dad had been so prestigious that his daughter occupied a coveted single room.

  Here in her house, furniture was sparse. A compact desk and a cupboard filled one wall. A bed and bookcase took over the other. In between those two walls, a built-in wardrobe completed the gap. When I finished studying the layout of the room, I looked over at Alana, curled up on her bed clutching an old stuffed bear to her chest. Her head lay on the pillow, but her eyes remained open, frightened, as if closing them might lock her in with the horror and torment.

  She didn’t acknowledge me, but I sat on the edge of the bed anyway. The silence hung over us and after ten minutes, I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer.

  “Alana, please, babe, talk to me.”

  She tucked her knees up to her chest, but when I reached out to touch her, she pulled away. My hands returned to my lap. “I know you’re confused and you blame yourself, but, Alana, if you had not have stayed safe, you would be dead too. Theresa would have gotten away with it. There wasn’t anything you could have done that would change the outcome. You lived to seek vengeance for what happened here.

  I know it hurts now. Nothing I can say or do will take it away or make you feel better. Trust me, I hate that fact. None of this is your fault.”

  She sniffled. “She was in love with my dad and did it out of lust for power and jealousy. If you love someone that much, how could you hurt them?”

  Rubbing my face with my hands, I tried unsuccessfully to think up something profound to say. “People do strange things in the name of love.”

  “I will kill her for this. I will.” The resolve in her voice was serious, deadly. It would be easier for her to accept what had happened if she could focus her anger on one person. Actually, that might keep her alive while I tied up some loose ends.

  “You are not a killer, Alana.”

  “I can be … I will be.”

  Silence filled the room again. I’d seen it many times before. I knew the signs, when Alana had made up her mind to do something and would single-handedly fight tooth and nail to do it. It was one of the reasons I loved her, that determination, the grit, but it might also be one of the reasons I lost her. I couldn’t go through that again.

  “Please, don’t do anything that could take you away from me, Alana. I only just got you back… if you go down this time, I’ll be right with you.”

  We glanced into each other’s eyes, and there was a moment of acceptance in her eyes. She knew I would give my life for hers, and she understood. It would be us or nothing. I chose us.

  She uncoiled herself and reached for me. I knelt on the bed, and she joined me. I kissed her as if it would be our last kiss. I needed to brand her to me, breathe in her skin and feel her against my skin. An urgency existed between us, and we were willing captives of it. Her fingertips grazed my hip as she yanked my T-shirt over my head, careful not to dislodge the glasses.

  Her fingers danced along my ribcage, and I bit my lip as she pressed a gentle kiss along my jawline. My fingers trembled, my whole body ablaze as I lifted her jumper over her head and tossed it aside. My patience ran thin, and I lowered her to the bed while my lips travelled the familiar path from her lips, then her jaw, and to that place on her neck that made her happy.

  She gasped and her grip tightened around my waist as her hand fumbled with the buttons on my jeans. If she went any further, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Months of pent-up need and lust blurred my focus so all I saw was her beneath me.

  Catching hold of her hands as she was about to open the last button on my jeans, I said in a broken voice, “Alana, are you sure you want this? Tell me no. Tell me to stop and I will… we don’t have to do this now.”

  I swallowed hard. Alana grinned up at me, and I knew she was my Alana again, full of mischief. She looped her fingers at the waist of her pants and shimmied out of them. The woman had me right where she wanted me, and I was going crazy looking at her. I crushed her mouth with mine, tasting her, letting my tongue explore the heaven that was her mouth. I groaned as she undid the last button on my jeans and helped guide them over my hips.

  We lost ourselves in each other, stripping away the horror, the pain, the loss, the guilt of the last year. Skin against skin, my lips on hers, we began to heal. Each familiar taste and comfortable contact brought us closer to who we had been and who we could be again.

  When it was over, I cradled her to my
chest, and we lay together for a while before either of us spoke.

  “I never remember it being that intense.” She teased and I kissed the top of her head.

  “You know, I never thought I’d lose you.”

  She snuggled into me, and I felt as though I could catch a bullet, or walk on water or something more poetic than I could ever contemplate. I wished we could stay there forever, locked in each other’s embrace, never to spend another night apart. She never even knew that I had wanted to marry her six months ago. Nothing had changed for me. One day I would call her my wife.

  The banging at the front door made Alana freeze. Heavy feet stomped around downstairs, and for just a minute I forgot that Connors and Megan waited for us outside. I was off the bed and shoving my legs into my jeans in a hurry, much to Alana’s amusement.

  “Hey, Danny-boy, where are ya?” I had only heard one set of feet, so I growled.

  “Connors, don’t you dare come up here or so help me—”

  My words were met with hysterical laughter as I dressed. I turned and glimpsed at Alana as she slipped back into her black prison clothing. Alana must have sensed my glance because she winked at me over her shoulder and smiled. I stepped in her direction and her in mine.

  “Danny-boy, get your skinny ass down here, or I will come up and douse you both with cold water!”

  I shook my head smiling. “I guess we better go.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to.”

  “Me either.”

  Hand in hand, we left the room, pausing as Alana gave one last look around and closed the door behind her. I let my hand drop from hers as we descended the stairs, single file, a beaming Connors waiting for us. He opened his mouth, another quip no doubt on his lips, but he stopped as I glared at him over Alana’s head.

  She kept on walking straight out the front door without so much as a twitch of her eyes in the direction of the living room. I followed a step behind, proud that she held her head up high, ignoring the even bigger crowd that had gathered outside. By God, there had to be hundreds of people across the street and in the general area. Maybe the entire town had come to watch their old neighbour return to the scene of her supposed crimes.

  Alana walked around the back of the car, opened the door and vanished inside. Megan climbed into the passenger side again, and I felt the first drops of rain on my skin. I jumped as Connors put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Did she find what she was looking for? Do we know who killed her parents?”

  I nodded. “Yes, we do and you’re not going to believe it,” I whispered one name in his ear and his return stare said it all. He must have thought I’d gone mad.

  “Seriously?”

  I acknowledged with a simple head bob.

  “We are going to get that bitch.”

  All I could do was nod again like an idiot as we headed to the car to join Alana and Megan. Once inside, Connors started the car but turned the radio volume way down as if realizing Alana needed time to get things straight in her head.

  As we found our way out of the city, Alana laid her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She breathed in and out in controlled steps. I could almost hear her counting to ten in her head until somewhere between her thoughts she drifted off to sleep. Instinctively, her head lolled in my direction, and I slid slightly closer so she could rest her head on my shoulder.

  Megan’s eyes in the mirror had spoken before I heard the words. “Do you need help moving her?”

  “No, leave her be… after what she has just seen I’m inclined to let the girl rest any way she can.”

  She narrowed her gaze and scowled, but a swift nudge from Connors pulled her eyes from mine, and we continued on the journey in silence. Alana slept through it all, barely stirring. I was grateful that she was not haunted by nightmares as she breathed heavily in her sleep.

  Only when we were within the confines of the prison did I sweep her hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled and leaned forward, but something in my face must have stopped her. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced around and said, “We’re back?”

  “We are.”

  As we exited the car and waited while Connors parked the car, I noticed the clouds had turned from grey to black, and the little drizzle of rain had now become more persistent. Alana rubbed her arms with her hands, and I wished I could wrap mine around her to keep her warm.

  Connors returned, and we headed back through security, along the maze of corridors until we entered the mess hall. It was late afternoon, so only a few of the death row inmates were around. Jayson caught my eye, an eyebrow raised in question. I tilted my head slightly, letting him know she had remembered.

  Alana put her hand on the railings unconsciously, heading up the stairs. I whispered her name. She hesitated. I walked around her so the railing was between us. Connors led Megan away by the arm, and I heard her giggle. Sometimes it really was great to have a best friend who was a Casanova.

  Alana avoided my gaze. She wanted to confront the warden, I could tell, but I had to make her wait. Our plan wasn’t in place yet.

  “Alana, please don’t do anything stupid. Do not confront Theresa. Please, babe…think with your head. Trust me, I have a plan, but we need to move cautiously.”

  She grunted, and I tapped her hand, forcing her to look at me. “Don’t shut me out, Alana, not now. Give me another two days… two days—that’s all I ask.”

  She sighed. “Okay… two days, Daniel, and then I act. With or without you.”

  “With me.” I growled and she smiled. She took another step, and I stopped her again.

  “I love you,” I said quietly.

  “I love you too.”

  She jogged up the steps and disappeared. I hoped she could rein in that fiery temper of hers long enough for me to arrange a few more things. Vengeance tended to be a powerful emotion. No reasoning would separate her from getting it even if she became consumed with the notion.

  I loved her, and she loved me in return. In the end, would it be enough?

  24

  Alana

  “See I’m just trying to find my place but it might not be here where I feel safe.”

  (Paramore: Misguided Ghosts)

  Yesterday had passed in such a blur that I couldn’t help but feel that I didn’t have enough time to process everything. Despite the fact that I had gotten my memories back, I still felt adrift. I seemed lost in a tidal wave of conflicted emotions that crashed over me, sudden and dangerous, using its sheer strength to pull me under and out to sea with the current.

  When I thought of what Theresa had done, the hot rage that had threatened to scald me quickly manifested into guilt. It was an ice-cold slap in the face as I thought of all the things I could have done to save Sophia. Of course, regret came as part of the package. I replayed scenarios, wishing I could pause the incessant video in my mind and change the outcome. But the end scene always completed the tragedy with no encore, no second act, no way to alter the past.

  And then there was Daniel. The very thought of him made my insides flutter. When I closed my eyes, I could feel his lips on mine, taste him. My entire body ached for him. Being with him again had been so perfect, and it was nice to have something so beautiful amidst the blood and lies. The gentleness of it, and the urgency, combined as we moulded our bodies together. Thinking of it made the hairs on my arms stand at attention. I tried to convince myself that it was okay to be happy. Certainly, I needed to focus on the fact that I had found Daniel again, and he had a plan for us to be together. I had to believe we could live out our lives together.

  But then the vicious cycle overcame me and allowed my thoughts to darken. It smothered me in guilt for thinking of happy things when I needed to latch onto revenge and seek vengeance for my dad, my mom, and Sophia.

  Somewhere in the midst of all the darkness, I must have fallen asleep. I did not dream nor was I haunted by my memories. It was as if someone had switched off a li
ght, and I slept. When the light was turned on again, I was awake. My cell door was open, and I desperately needed a shower. Not the least bit hungry, I asked one of the female guards if she could take me to the shower rooms. She left the area to ask permission, and I gathered up some clean clothes, ready to go when she returned.

  Once there, I went in alone. Empty and silent, I stripped off my clothes and adjusted the dial, not bothering to wait for it to become lukewarm. The ice cold waters cascaded down on me while the water belted down on my skin, and I flinched. I was grateful that it could hurt me… I needed to feel something different, something real.

  When the shower temperature was warmer, I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin to redness. Once I had cleaned off, I remained there until my skin wrinkled and my fingers and toes began to tremble. Who was I kidding? No amount of water would wash it all away, drench me in its pureness and soak up all the dirt and darkness. Oh, if it would only disappear down the drain. The darkness was part of me now… I would have to live with it until the day I died—no matter how soon that was.

  Turning off the current of water, I wrapped myself in a towel and sat on the bench. Time ticked by, and I sat staring at the walls until the guard hammered on the door and told me I had five minutes to get dressed or she would drag me out and parade me around naked. I quickly dressed in my black pants, vest, jumper… it matched my mood.

  The guard escorted me back to my room and I couldn’t do anything but wait for Connors to come get me and take me to Daniel. I pulled my knees to my chest as I perched on the bed and leaned my head back against the wall. What was Daniel’s plan? Why could he not be straight with me? Great. Now I was getting angry at Daniel for no reason other than the fact I wanted to know his plan… some girlfriend I turned out to be.

  “Alana, where were you yesterday? I was looking for you all day.” Jayson’s voice penetrated the bubble of self-pity, and I smiled as he propped himself on the bed and swung his legs back and forth near the floor like a child at the playground.