Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(13)

We walk to the parking lot in silence. The fresh air feels good. Heather presses a button on her key chain and the trunk of the car opens. She begins to transfer the bags of food from the cart.

‘Oh!’ she exclaims suddenly, throwing her hands in the air. ‘I forgot the sour cream for the onion dip. Do you want to finish loading the groceries and I’ll just run in and get it?’

I shrug. ‘OK.’

‘I’ll be two minutes,’ she promises, and then scurries away, heading back into the store.

I lift a bag from the cart and place it carefully inside the car, just as I observed Heather do a few seconds ago. I position it against the far wall to maximize space. When I turn to reach for the next one, I notice someone standing behind me.

I jump and inhale a sharp breath.

I recognize him immediately. It’s the boy. The one who was in the crowd yesterday. And in my hospital room.

The one I still think I could easily have hallucinated.

But now he’s here. Close. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. And for some incomprehensible reason, I do. I feel my fingers tremble with the anticipation of it. But I force my hands to stay where they are.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

He’s staring at me with a funny loose smile. His eyes are sparkling. He takes a step towards me and I suddenly feel queasy.

I step back, reminding myself that he lied. He’s one of them. The media-hungry fakes. A fraud.

‘Who are you?’ I demand.

I watch the smile vanish from his face. Replaced by a dismal frown. His thick brown eyebrows knit together, forming a deep crease in his forehead. ‘It’s true, then, isn’t it?’

I don’t know what he’s talking about so I stay quiet.

He runs his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ His voice cracks. He looks to the ground. When he speaks again it’s barely a whisper. ‘You really did lose everything.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, trying to make my voice rigid as I pull the brim of my hat further down and adjust my sunglasses, ‘but I don’t know you.’

It’s the truth, I tell myself.

‘You do though,’ he insists. ‘You just have to try harder.’ Even through the dark glasses, his eyes lock on to mine, making me feel funny. Dizzy almost. ‘Do you remember me?’ he asks. Slow. Purposeful. Pronouncing each syllable as though it’s a key that unlocks a secret door.

And then I hear another voice. Distant. Faint. Smothered.

Yes.

Always yes.

I shake my head, breaking his gaze. ‘No,’ I mutter, turning to grab another bag. I place it in the car, rotating the others so that they all face the same direction.

I hear a sigh behind me. And then, a few moments later, a faint laugh. ‘You’ve always been stubborn. Hard-wired to distrust, I suppose.’

I do my best to ignore him.

‘But if I have to start all over again, I will.’

Cart. Bag. Trunk.

He speaks again. There’s desperation in his voice now. It pierces something inside me. Something I can’t pinpoint. ‘Please, Sera. Try.’

I spin back around slowly. ‘What did you call me?’

‘Sera,’ he whispers. ‘That’s your name. It’s short for Seraphina.’

I wait for a reaction. Certain that if he was telling the truth, my real name would cause me to feel something.

But it doesn’t.

‘Do you remember any of it?’ he asks. ‘What we discovered? Why we fled? How you ended up here?’

‘I survived a plane crash,’ I say flatly.

He releases a low guttural laugh. ‘Oh, come on. You were never on that plane and you know it.’

I swallow, feeling a swelling in my chest. We’re both silent for a long moment. His eyes challenge me to negate him. To look away.

I can’t do either of those things so I just say, ‘I want you to leave.’

It’s the truth, I tell myself again. But this time it sounds far less convincing.

I don’t know him. I don’t remember him. I can’t trust him.

I clear my throat. ‘I know you’re an impostor trying to get on the news.’

‘If that was true,’ he says, ‘then I would have gone straight to the press. Not come to you.’

I turn my back to him, reach deeper into the cart. I’m running out of bags.

‘And,’ he continues, ‘I wouldn’t know about the locket.’

I freeze. Blinking again and again. The surrounding cars grow blurry.

He’s close behind me. I think I feel his breath on my neck but I convince myself it’s just a passing breeze. A beautiful, sweet summer breeze.

‘But I do know about it,’ he presses on. ‘Because I’m the one who gave it to you.’

I turn and open my mouth to reply even though I don’t have the slightest idea what to say. The warmth between my eyes returns. It quickly grows hot.

What is that?

Cringing, I tear my sunglasses from my face. I push up my hat and place my finger to my forehead.

He notices and a strange, knowing smile surfaces on his lips. His eyes begin to sparkle again. ‘So you do remember,’ he says. ‘At least some part of you does.’