Page 14 of Wings of Lies
If they could do that to him, what were they doing to me?
“—before they got?—”
“Who are they?” I asked, interrupting whatever question he was asking.
“Marcus,” he spat. “That’s the name of the cowboy-hatted scum.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. “And the rest?”
He shrugged. “Scum that works for him, I suppose.”
“Why does he want me?”
“I was going to ask you that. What were you doing before they got you?”
“I…”
Memories stirred. My mom stood in a cute rooster t-shirt with pants to match, clenching her fists as they surrounded her. And I just hid around a corner, working up the courage to fight, only to be shoved out by…What exactly? The jerk of her hand? Some unseen force?
“Lucille?”
“I don’t know.”
Oliver squinted. “What do you mean?”
“Most of my memories…are gone.”
“Your memories?” he asked, voice higher and louder than I liked. I peered around at the oblivious patrons, thankful for their noise. “But—” he sputtered. “Then—how do you know your name? Or age?”
Damn it, Lucille. You don’t get to give up. Fight it!The man’s voice from my nightmare echoed in my head. A bellow that shook the foundation of my mind, vibrating the cells of my body, waking me up from certain death. His words were angry. Desperate.
Why?
“Some I still have, and there were voices… in my mind when I was in a coma.”
He opened and closed his mouth two times before deciding to nod his head. By the wrinkles creasing his brows, he didn’t look like he believed me, but at least he didn’t outright call me crazy.
My skin crawled, voice dropped. “It wasn’t even the small room or IVs that were horrific. It was waking up to that and not knowing how long I was there. Not knowing why. Not knowing…” An ache built in my throat. I swallowed. “I have a sense of who I am, little superficial facts. Likes, dislikes, my age, my name, but anything important, most of the useful information about myself is gone. It was like someone deliberately tried to steal all my memories and only had time to steal the most valuable ones. Then another voice helped me escape by telling me to melt the doorknob.”Yeah, I’d just tack that onto the end.
Oliver bobbed his head, mouth opening, “I?—”
“Excuse me, but we’re closing.” The young host returned.
“Yep, we’re going.” Oliver scribbled something on the receipt and stood. I mirrored him.
The hostess’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “How?—”
“Spontaneous remission,” he blurted, scooping me up. Surprised stares followed us out the door.
Shit, his lie. I forgot.
“I think my miraculous standing was less of a scene than you running us out.”
“I’m impulsive at best.” He shrugged. He jogged us to the end of the block, found a wooden bench under a twinkling tree, and sat us in it. Uncomfortable sitting in his lap, I slid beside him.
“What are you at your worst?” I asked.
“Fear.” The way he said it turned my head. The speckling of goosebumps graced the back of my neck.
