Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(35)

The redheaded man slips back into his seat at the counter without another glance in my direction.

It was a mistake to come here. I realize that now.

I should go.

I start to rise but the woman in the apron approaches with my grilled cheese sandwich on a yellow plastic plate. She sets it on the table and the smell sends my taste buds into a frenzy.

I sit back down and gobble the whole thing in a matter of seconds. It’s just as delicious as Heather’s was. Maybe even more. I decide that whoever I was before I lost my memories, I definitely liked grilled cheese sandwiches.

I wonder if that’s a useful clue.

I pull a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table and hastily wipe my mouth. Then I crumple it up, toss it on the empty plate, and dash for the exit.

‘Hang on a minute!’ the woman calls, stopping me. ‘You may be just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen come in here but it doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay like everyone else.’

Pay?

Vivid memories flash through my head. Cody handing a stack of cash to the man at the bus station in exchange for our tickets. Heather swiping her credit card at the supermarket and again at the mall. Scott throwing down several bills on the table of the restaurant.

I stare back at the woman with panicked eyes.

She sighs and releases my arm. ‘Let me guess. You don’t have any money?’

‘I—’ I start to say but my mind drifts. How am I going to get anywhere without being able to pay for things?

She groans.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her tab,’ a male voice says.

We both glance up to see the redheaded man standing next to us. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few of the same green bills that Cody and his father had.

The woman in the apron shrugs and takes the money. ‘I don’t care who pays, as long as it’s done.’

She presses a few buttons on the register. A ding chimes through the diner, followed by the slam of the drawer closing.

I look perplexedly between her and the man, unable to fully comprehend what just happened. All I know is that the woman has already gone back to pouring coffee into mugs.

I look the redheaded man in the eye and say, ‘Thank you.’

He meets my gaze and I notice his lips curve into a broad grin underneath his stubbly beard. His smile reminds me of Heather’s. It’s the kind that reaches the eyes. I find myself smiling back.

A sudden jolt of familiarity runs through me. It’s something about his eyes. They look so . . .

Tired.

‘You should get some sleep,’ I hear myself say. Although I have no idea where the remark came from. My lips just opened spontaneously and the words tumbled out.

I laugh to cover my embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

But the man’s smile never falters. In fact, it only grows bigger. ‘It’s OK, Sera. You’re right. I do need to get some sleep.’

‘Well,’ I say, feeling uncomfortable about the entire exchange, ‘thank you again.’ I turn and head for the exit, anxious to get out of there.

It isn’t until I’m already out the door and halfway through the parking lot that his response finally catches up with me.

‘It’s OK, Sera.’

Sera.

That’s exactly what the boy called me.

‘It’s short for Seraphina.’

I immediately spin around and head back towards the diner. But I’m stopped by a bright light that flashes over my left shoulder. It’s followed quickly by another. And another.

‘Violet! Violet!’ someone calls. ‘Over here!’

I slowly turn to assess the damage. There are only a few press people here but more are arriving by the second. A white van with 9 NEWS on the side screeches to a halt and a man with a camera strapped to his shoulder hops out and scrambles towards me.

‘Have you gotten any of your memories back?’ a reporter asks.

‘Are you satisfied with the way the airline is handling the investigation?’

‘Do you plan on suing?’

A giant light mounted to a large pole flickers on, illuminating the entire parking lot and blinding me.

I blink, shielding my eyes until the tiny white stars clear from my vision.

I search for an escape.

The wall of press is growing in front of me and there’s a thick forest of trees to my left. My best choice is to go right and get back on the main road. I turn and ready myself to run but skid to a halt when I feel a strange tingling sensation on the inside of my left wrist. The skin is pulsating and it’s hot to the touch. Just like it was in the supermarket when I accidentally swiped my tattoo in front of the scanner.

‘It’s not a tattoo,’ I hear the boy’s voice say. ‘It’s a tracking device.’

When I look up, I see a large muscular man standing on the sidewalk in front of me. His features are weathered and worn. Like the yellowed note that sits at the bottom of my trash. He’s dressed entirely in black – black turtleneck and loose black pants tucked into tall black leather lace-up boots. He almost blends completely into the night. His hair is cut very short, a layer of black fuzz. An unsettling scar runs down the entire left side of his face, beginning at his forehead, crossing his eye and dripping down his cheek. The sight of it sends a shiver along my spine.