Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(44)

I toss my hands in the air and launch to my feet so forcefully the little blue chair I was sitting on goes flying backwards. ‘So that’s it?’ I cry. ‘That’s all I get? A quick glimpse of a stupid living room? What good can that possibly do me?!’

I expect Zen to reach out and try to comfort me again, but he doesn’t. In fact, all he does is smile. As though he’s thoroughly entertained by my aggravation.

‘What?’ I demand, my teeth clenching.

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Sorry. It’s just . . .’ His voice trails off.

‘It’s just what?’

‘It’s nice to see you back.’

My forehead crumples. ‘Back?’

‘Yeah, you know, the old Seraphina. The feisty, spirited one I fell in love with. I saw a flash of her just then and it . . .’ His smile quickly fades, replaced by a much more sombre expression. ‘Well, for a while there I was afraid she might be gone forever.’

My rage suddenly subsides and I cast my eyes downward, coming up with nothing more interesting to respond with than ‘Oh’.

‘But don’t worry,’ Zen assures me, tapping the steel cube. ‘That’s not the only memory on here. I promise there’s more to see.’ He stands up and retrieves the upturned chair from the other side of the room where it landed. ‘Sit back down. Relax. I’m going to show you my favourite memory of all.’

Reluctantly I lower myself back into the chair. ‘And what memory would that be?’ I ask, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible in hopes of counteracting my earlier outburst.

The crooked smile is back. The one that makes me feel like it’s the only thing in the world worth remembering. He holds my gaze tightly as he says, ‘The day I met you.’





26


CONTAINED


‘Close your eyes,’ Zen instructs me. ‘Go back to the living room and tell me what you see.’

I do as I’m told, allowing my mind to be transported back to the only room I have. I focus hard until I see everything reappear in front of me. The beige couch. The coffee table. The lamp. But this time, there’s something new in the picture.

‘A book,’ I tell him eagerly. ‘I see a book. And a hand. It’s . . .’ The realization comes fast. ‘It’s mine! It’s my hand. I’m holding the book. I just finished reading it.’

‘Good,’ Zen encourages. ‘That’s right. You were in the living room reading.’

I can see the book clearly in front of me now. A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L’Engle. The cover is ragged and peeling away. As though it’s been read a hundred times. And underneath it, I can make out my legs, curled up on the couch, swathed in a pair of dark grey cotton pants. They look surprisingly similar to the ones I was wearing when the rescue boat found me. The ones still folded up in a drawer at the Carlsons’ house.

‘Now try to let the memory guide you. It may be somewhat stilted at first but it will get easier and start to flow more fluidly the longer you do it. And I’ll be here to prompt you if you get stuck. What else do you remember about that day?’

I bite my lip and concentrate, attempting to verbalize everything I see and feel. ‘I was getting hungry,’ I recount. ‘I was going to eat lunch. But then I heard something. A scratching sound. It was coming from outside.’

I watch the scene as it plays out in brief, somewhat hazy fragments. I see it through my own eyes. As though it’s happening to me right now.

Standing up. Walking to the front door. Reaching out my hand.

But I’m crippled by a sudden bout of fear and I quickly withdraw it.

‘I was scared,’ I tell Zen. ‘Something scared me.’

‘Yes,’ Zen replies. ‘Do you remember what you were afraid of?’

‘The outside,’ I say with startling certainty. ‘I was afraid to go outside.’

‘Why?’ Zen prompts.

‘Because someone told me not to.’

Who? I immediately wonder. I clench my eyes shut and press my fingers against my temples, trying to find the person’s face. Trying to hear the warning. But I just can’t. The memory is not there.

‘I’m not supposed to go outside when no one is home,’ I tell Zen. But I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds flat and lifeless. My words come out like a monotone chant. ‘Something bad will happen if I do. But I don’t know what.’

‘It’s OK,’ Zen says hastily. ‘Keep going.’

I inhale deeply and slide back in.

My hand extends again. My finger presses against a glowing blue scanner. The door beeps and I push it open.

‘I didn’t listen,’ I recall. ‘I went outside anyway.’

Zen laughs. ‘You were never very good at following rules. Much to the disappointment of the people who made them.’

I think about the Carlsons. How I convinced Cody to sneak out of the house before they woke up. How I disappeared into the night without telling them I was leaving. I find myself comforted by the knowledge that apparently some parts of me were never really lost.

‘What did you see when you went outside?’ Zen asks, his question inspiring a whole new picture to appear before me.

A white wraparound porch, a small, well-manicured lawn with freshly cut grass and flowers. The air is hot and dry.