Page 85 of Connor

DAISY

“Urgghhhhh,” I moan, my headache feeling like it’s splitting me in two. I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, my jaw aching as I try to breathe through the pain.

“It will subside soon,” I hear a deep voice say, and I startle, my eyes pinging open before I cringe, squeezing them shut again. A sharp bolt of pain shoots through the base of my neck and up through to my brain.

I try to get my bearings. Birds chirp outside, and the brief moment my eyes were open, I saw blue skies and sunlight streaming in through a small window. The thud in my head is constant, but I slowly open my eyes again and am looking straight at one man whom I’ve never seen before and another whom I have. My memories all flood back to me.

“Where am I?” I look around a little more, trying to gauge where I am, but nothing is familiar. We’re not in the distillery, and from what I can see out the tiny window, I don’t think we’re in Whispers. The forest outside looks dense, like it cocoons us.

“You are where you belong,” the man I don’t recognize says cryptically, and I look back at him. He’s older, very weathered. His hair is long, gray, and thinning on top. His eyes are bright blue, his teeth brown, and his clothes look too big for him. I smell incense burning—ylang ylang. It’s a calming scent; I use it sometimes at night to help rest my body and mind before sleep.

“And where is that?” I ask, unable to hide the bite in my tone as I look between him and the man next to him, the one who grabbed me from the parking lot at the distillery. He’s somewhat more familiar, but still a stranger.

“Here, I made you tea.” He offers me a terracotta cup, the contents steaming. I swallow, my mouth dry, tongue feeling like sandpaper, but I don’t take it. I just look at him.

“It’s not poison, my child. It’s chamomile. We grow it here on our land, so it's fresh, organic,” he says, still extending the cup to me. But I continue to ignore him.

He huffs.

“Painful, just like your mother,” he murmurs, and now he has my attention.

“How do you know my mother?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on him. I try to think if I’ve met him before at Sunshine.

“You’re currently in her commune.” Taking back the cup, he places it next to him, and I sit up. My body hurts as I straighten on the hard timber floor. It isn’t polished, but it is sanded. This room is small and looks like some type of living space in a small, run-down cabin.

“Commune?” As I look between him and my kidnapper, my heart starts to race all over again. They look like they live in a commune. Both with long hair, very natural clothing. Not dissimilar to Soren or some of my mom’s other contacts whom I’ve met over the years.

“Yes, my child, you’re at Forest Falls. Your family home,” he says, and I frown. I’ve never heard of Forest Falls. Never heard a thing about this place, but it’s starting to make sense. I look out the window again, and the sun is still high. It couldn’t have taken long to get here from Whispers. Mom did say her commune was close.

“Rainbow was one of us. She was born here. Her life is meant to be here. As is yours, my child.”

“Stop calling me your child,” I tell him, shoulders tense, not liking the wording, nor the familiarity that he uses it with.

“But that’s what you are. You are a child of Forest Falls, yes. But you are also my child. My blood,” he says, and I stop breathing.

“What?” I ask, my mind whirling, feeling the air around me go still.

“I procreated with your mother. Her breasts swelled, as did her belly, before she left in the dead of night, and we never saw her again. She stole you from me.”

Everything he’s saying has me feeling like I might be sick.

“I already have a father, so that must have been a different pregnancy,” I state with a shake of my head, the feeling of terror mixed with shock and disbelief filtering through my body.

“You have my eyes.”

I look right at his pupils and swallow down the bile rising up my throat. He’s right. I do.

“Most of the population has blue eyes.” My confidence in my heritage is waning. He’s right. I look nothing like my father. I look like Mom, and I always thought I took after her in every way. But she doesn’t have vibrant blue eyes, and neither does Dad.

The thump in my head starts to worsen, and the feeling of nausea because overwhelming.

“I was devastated when she left. I looked for days, sure that she was met with danger in the forest. The whole commune searched and searched. It wasn’t until my friend, Soren, found her in the city almost a decade later that we knew where she was.”

My blood chills.

“Soren?” I ask, because if he knows Soren, then his story just became a hell of a lot more believable.

“Yes. Soren is a crystal finder. He comes here annually and sits in peace before he mines for quartz in the rock faces nearby,” he explains, and I feel my hands start to shake. He knows too much. The information is exactly what Soren told me in my office weeks ago. Everything he says is making perfect sense. My heart breaks as the feeling that my dad isn’t my real dad sinks in.

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