Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(8)

I try to smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘We’re gonna miss you around here.’ Kiyana steps close and wraps her arms tightly around me. She squeezes hard. I stiffen. It’s the first time she’s touched me with so many body parts at once. The first time anybody has. Normally she brushes her hand lightly against mine. Or grazes the side of my face with her fingertip. But now she’s everywhere. Her arms suffocate me. Her hair irritates my cheek. Her scent overpowers me. I can’t move. I feel the sudden urge to break free. To shove her to the ground.

Then a pleasant sensation begins to travel up my legs. It tingles, relaxing me nearly instantly. My eyelids begin to feel heavy. As though I can’t keep them open. Or don’t want to. They sag. Along with my torso. And right as they’re about to close, Kiyana releases me and steps away.

‘What was that?’ I ask, somewhat dizzy from the encounter.

She laughs and touches my hair. ‘It’s alrigh’, darlin’,’ she whispers so no one else can hear. ‘It’s just a hug.’



It isn’t until we step out the front doors of the hospital that I fully understand the meaning of the term media circus.

I blink against the strange flashes of light. They blind me again and again. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. It takes my mind a second longer to translate what I’m looking at.

People.

Hundreds and hundreds of people.

More than I’m sure I’ve ever seen at one time before.

I feel a tightness in my chest. I start to count them. Trusting the sum to calm me. If I can determine how many there are, then I might be able to think. Breathe. Function. But I’m so anxious I lose count after 142. And Mr Rayunas is tugging on my arm, coaxing me to walk through them. Which only ratchets up the tension behind my ribs.

I hear voices everywhere. There are so many I can’t tell if they’re real or in my head. They’re demanding things of me. Things I don’t have to give.

‘Do you remember anything?’

‘Were you running away from home when you boarded that plane?’

‘Do you have any clues about your true identity?’

I clutch the locket in my hand tighter, concealing it entirely behind my flesh.

‘She has no comment,’ Mr Rayunas repeats over and over again as we struggle past. If he’s hoping this will dispel them, I think someone should tell him that it’s not working.

He eventually catches on and adds another obviously useless response. ‘Please, everyone,’ he implores, ‘she’s been through a lot. Allow her to recover in peace.’

For a moment I actually think that this appeal might work. But that moment is short-lived. Because the assault continues.

‘Can you tell us what’s going on in your head right now?’

‘Do you have any comment about how the airline is handling this investigation?’

‘Are you sure they’re not lying to you?’

I stop. Lift my eyes from the ground for the first time. Despite the persistent tugging on my arm, willing me to keep moving, keep walking until we’ve reached the vehicle at the end of the walkway, I don’t move. Someone has shoved a long black stick in my face.

‘What did you say?’ I ask.

‘Are you sure they’re not lying to you?’ a woman with big blonde hair repeats, looking proud that it was her question that finally caught my attention.

The crowd has fallen silent. They’re waiting for my response.

Why would they lie to me? I wonder.

But I can’t answer that question either.

The sea of faces around me starts to spin. Faster and faster. Appearing to me in a blur. I feel myself falling. Losing balance. Losing my sense of direction. The sky is no longer up. The pavement is no longer down. I know nothing.

There’s a faint pull on my arm. The world stops spinning. Individual faces come back into focus. I steady my feet.

‘You OK?’ Mr Rayunas asks.

I catch my breath. ‘Yes. I just got a little dizzy.’

‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you into the car.’

I follow willingly, keeping my eyes glued to the ground. It moves rapidly under my feet. I feel my legs tingle. They send signals to my brain, telling me to run. But I keep them in pace with my escort.

We reach a long black vehicle at the end of the walkway and I’m told to watch my head as I get in. I fall into the seat. The door is slammed, startling me.

Heather and Scott are already inside. Feeling protected by the glass window that now stands guard in front of me, I find the courage to look out at the wall of people we just walked through. They’re still calling my name, demanding my attention. Although now their voices have melded into one loud muffled hum. I can no longer make out individual questions. I watch Mr Rayunas attempt to make his way back to the hospital. My eyes scan the crowd, scrutinizing faces. Features. Eyes. Do any of them resemble mine? Kiyana says she’s never seen eyes like mine. The colour of violets. Surely I received that trait from one of my parents. So maybe that’s how I’ll know them. When they come for me.

If they come for me.

I allow my clenched fingers to part ever so slightly as I glance down at the locket in my hand.

Who gave it to me?

Who was important to me?

If I was wearing it when I boarded the plane, then it probably mattered. They probably mattered.