Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(4)

And without thinking, without intention, I feel myself smiling back.

I open my mouth to speak but the words come out garbled. Half formed. Half conscious. ‘Do I know you?’

He squeezes my hand. ‘Yes. It’s me. Do you remember?’

The answer comes before I can even attempt to respond. It echoes in some back corner of my mind. A faraway flicker of a flame that is no longer lit. A voice that is not my own.

Yes.

Always yes.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ He speaks softly, almost to himself. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’

I struggle to make sense of what is happening. To cling on to the unexpected surge of hope that has surfaced. But it’s gone just as quickly as it came. Extinguished in the dark void of my depleted memory.

A low groan escapes my lips.

I feel him moving around me. Fast, fluid motions. The tube that was in my nose is removed. The IV is gently pulled from my vein. There’s a faint tug on the cord attached to the suction cup under my gown and then a shrill beeping sound fills the room.

I hear frantic footsteps down the hall, coming from the nurses’ station. Someone will be here in less than fifteen steps.

‘Don’t worry,’ he continues in a whisper, lacing his warm fingers through mine and squeezing. ‘I’m going to get you out of here.’

I suddenly shiver. A chill has rolled over me. Slowly replacing every spark of heat that was lingering just under my skin.

And that’s when I realize that the touch of his hand has vanished. With all my strength, I reach out, searching for it. Grasping at cold, empty air. I fight to open my eyes one last time before the darkness comes.

He is gone.





3


ACCESSORIES


I wake up the next morning feeling drowsy. The drugs linger in my system. My arms and legs are heavy. My throat is dry. My vision is blurred. It takes a few moments for it to clear.

Kiyana enters. She smiles upon seeing me. ‘Well, look who’s awake.’

I push the button on the small box next to me. The back of the bed rises until I’m sitting upright.

Kiyana retreats to the hallway and returns a few seconds later with a tray. ‘I brought you some breakfast. Do you wanna try eatin’ some real food?’

I look at the items on her tray. I can’t identify a single one. ‘No.’

She laughs. ‘Can’t say I blame you. That’s hospital food for you.’

She takes the tray back out to the hallway and returns, writing things down on her clipboard. ‘Vitals are good,’ she says with a wink. ‘Like always.’ Her fingertip does a tap tap tap on the screen of the heart monitor next to my bed. ‘A good strong heart you’ve got there.’

The machines.

The cord.

There was a boy in my room.

I reach up and touch my face. The tube in my nose is intact. I glance down at my arm. The IV has been reinserted. I peer around the room. It’s empty except for Kiyana.

But he was here. I heard him. I saw him.

Who was he? Did I know him? He said I did.

I feel the warmth in my stomach again. Hope on the rise.

‘Kiyana?’ I say, my voice inexplicably wobbly.

‘Yes, love?’ She flicks her pen against the bag filled with clear liquid that’s attached to my IV.

I swallow dry air. ‘Has anyone . . . ?’ My lip starts to quiver. I bite it quickly before trying again. ‘Did anyone come in here last night? Like a visitor?’

Her face scrunches up as she flips a page on her clipboard. Then she slowly shakes her head. ‘No, love. Jus’ the night nurse. When you knocked out your IV in your sleep.’

‘What?’ My throat constricts but I push past it. ‘I did that?’

She nods. ‘I don’t think you took well to the drugs.’

I feel my face fall. ‘Oh.’

But the image of the boy is so clear in my memory now. I can see his eyes. And the way his dark hair fell into them as he leaned over me.

‘But listen,’ Kiyana says pointedly, her gaze darting discreetly towards the open door, then back to me. A cunning grin erupts on her face as she bends down and whispers, ‘I did hear some good news this mornin’.’

I peer up at her.

‘They started interviewin’ some people who claim to be your family.’

‘Really?’ I sit up straighter.

‘Yeah,’ she confirms with a pat pat pat on my blanketed leg. ‘Hundreds of people have been callin’ after that newscast yesterday. The police have been interviewin’ them all night.’ She steals another glance at the hallway. ‘But I’m not supposed to tell you that, so don’t be getting me in any trouble.’

‘Hundreds?’ I ask, suddenly confused. ‘But how could there be hundreds?’

Her voice is back to a whisper. ‘So far, they’ve all’ve been impostors. Media-hungry fakes.’

‘You mean people have been lying about knowing me?’

The boy’s face instantly dissolves. Just like the warm touch of his hand on my skin.

She shakes her head in obvious disapproval. ‘Well, I’ll tell you. I blame that news coverage. You’ve become a celebrity overnight. People can be so desperate for attention.’

‘Why?’