Soul Forgotten (Blue Star Series Book 1)

by Laura Winter

  SOUL FORGOTTEN

  Laura Winter

  Copyright © 2021 Laura Winter

  All rights reserved.

  To my dear @lexa.

  Thanks for printing this entire manuscript and texting me play by play updates as you read.

  I miss you.

  1

  Girl

  Not dead. At least, I don’t think so.

  I’m not sure how long I sat in numbness, completely swallowed by a blinding white light. My mind was as blank as my vision, silence ringing in my ears. Or maybe that was actual ringing.

  The loud, high pitched shriek slowly faded as the rest of my body settled and feeling tingled through my limbs. I stared up at the night sky, color returning around me despite the blurry vision. My lungs and throat burned as I took a breath. My mouth might have been dry, but I definitely knew the metallic taste. Why had I been screaming?

  As the trees came into focus, I felt my heart pick up in panic. I couldn’t remember why I had been screaming. In fact, I couldn’t remember where I was, or what I was doing. But even worse, I couldn’t remember who I was. What could have happened to make me forget my own name?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breath. I couldn’t have a panic attack now. I needed to focus and figure out what the hell was going on. I needed to be logical here.

  Senses; the metallic taste and burning throat must be from screaming. The smell of fresh air and sweat swirling around me was just as concerning, especially because the sweat was me. Well, the muggy air might have had something to do with it, but for some reason I didn’t feel hot. Focus. If my legs were sore and I was this sweaty, had I been running? And how did I end up on the ground?

  Underneath me, my fingers tangled in the slightly overgrown grass, uncomfortable and sticky under my sweating arms. Wait, not just sweat. My left arm stung from my palm to my elbow, throbbing with each pound of pain from a headache radiating around my entire head.

  I focused my energy on lifting my heavy arm. If the moon hadn’t been so bright, I might have thought it was just a trick from the shadows. But this was unmistakable.

  Blood, and a lot of it. I watched it run down my forearm and drip from my elbow onto my clothes and the grass underneath me. Even in the dark, it seemed too deep a color to be blood, but there was a lot of it. Maybe it was the blood loss and the headache making me see things.

  A million more questions ran through my head but I shoved them down. I was already using too much of my energy to keep from shaking. I had to focus on getting the answers of my situation, but it wouldn’t help if I kept adding more questions rather than staying under control. With a few breaths to build energy and confidence, I pushed my back off the ground to get a better look at my surroundings.

  Shit.

  I regretted it immediately. Not ten feet in front of me was a man’s body. His jeans were ripped and charred, his body contorted in a limp pile, bending in ways a body should not be bent. For a brief moment, I didn’t feel scared. No, I felt relief; relief that he was dead, blood pooling from his head and seeping into the cracks of rock underneath him.

  What kind of person am I to be relieved he’s dead?

  Fear rolled back through my body. Was I running with him? From him? Was I chasing him?

  Had I killed him?

  I gripped my hands into fists to keep from losing my control. With no memories, I wasn’t going to find the answers in my head. I had to use what I could around me to put the pieces together.

  I scanned the immediate area, locating a backpack just out of reach from me. I leaned over and pulled it closer, careful not to move my left arm too much. My best guess was that the pink and blue checkered bag was mine. At least, that’s what I had to tell myself to keep hope alive that I’d find answers somewhere.

  Inside the floppy compartment, I pulled out a map that looked like it had been ripped from a large book. It was in good detail, the layout of a town and forest with a small gap in the trees. Maybe that’s where I was now. But the scribbled red circle between the town and forest edge caught my attention. There weren’t any structures or clues as to what could be there, though; just empty space. Could that have been where I was going, or where I was running from?

  I kept digging through the bag, pulling out an extra set of clothes, a worn book titled The Magicians, a big key on a thick chain necklace, and an iPod that was clinging to life.

  1:45 A.M. August 18.

  The screen shut off as it died.

  Still no real answers, but the best shot I had to figuring things out seemed to be the red circle on the map. If I wanted to figure out the answers to my questions, I had to work with what I had. Besides, with no memories and people around to help, I had to find the answers myself.

  As I put my hand down, bracing to stand up, I felt something cold and smooth press into the palm of my hand. I picked up a shiny black marble… well, half marble. The object was split perfectly down the middle, no imperfections visible. Somehow, that wasn’t the first question in my head. How could something so small be so cold? In the middle of summer?

  If there was another half somewhere, it wasn’t close by. The grass might have been hiding it, but I wouldn’t be able to find it at night anyway. I shoved it into the bag and slung it over my shoulder, looking back at the man’s body. Whatever was going on, I wasn’t going to figure it out here; and I definitely didn’t want to be caught in the middle of the forest with a dead man and no memories.

  My only option was obvious. I oriented myself on the map and headed toward the red circle near the town of Forest Hills.

  ◆◆◆

  The map led me to the bottom of a long and winding driveway that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. And right where the red circle had directed me, I spotted a small cabin tucked within the dense trees of the forest. It was dark and hard to see as I cautiously approached, confused and losing hope as it looked like the roof had caved in from a fallen tree.

  What the hell was I getting myself into? It wasn’t likely that I would have run from this place, but why would I be running toward it? The cabin itself certainly looked uninviting, even from afar, but up close it looked like a disaster. The weathered wood creaked as a slight breeze rustled through the trees, causing my heart to pound harder in my chest. Despite my nervousness, I had to get closer. If I had any other clues as to what was happening to me, I would have turned around, but this was my only hope.

  I stepped onto the porch, surprised that the weakened wood was stable under my feet. I would have guessed that my weight would have snapped the rotten boards, but they barely creaked with my steps.

  In front of me and looking out of place compared to the rest of the house, the door appeared brand new and clean. I frowned. Just a second ago, I could have sworn it looked just as rotten as the porch. I must have just been exhausted, and I’m sure the shifting shadows and trees were making me see things. I moved to the left, carefully stepping along the boards to peer into the broken window. There weren’t any lights on inside, and no matter how much I tried to focus, I couldn’t see anything but blackness. I doubt anyone would be awake this early in the morning, nor living in such a run-down cabin to begin with, but there should have been some light coming from the broken roof and full moon.

  If it was empty, there wouldn’t be any harm in staying inside just to keep out of the open. I walked to the front door, prepared to reach for the handle, but froze.

  Where is the doorknob?

  I leaned closer, a gentle hum from the wood pulling my attention. Carefully, I pressed my hand against the door to balance and held my ear to the wood. Underneath my touch, I could feel a soft vibration from unde
rneath the surface. Then, somewhere inside the door, I heard a latch click, echoing around the empty forest as the door edged open slightly. Despite the darkness I had just seen through the broken window, light spilled onto the porch around me. And not just moonlight; artificial light.

  “Hello?” I called, trying to look inside without actually moving forward. The door responded, opening further, as if it was inviting me to walk inside.

  This is definitely the part of the movie where you die.

  But somehow, I knew that wasn’t true. There was a strange nagging in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grasp what it meant. I should have actually believed I was going to get murdered or something worse by going inside. It should have terrified me that there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the door to open it, but it wasn’t fear I felt. It was… familiar, almost comforting. I felt like there was something about this cabin I should have remembered, but the harder I tried to focus on the thought, the more it slipped away.

  I continued into the house without another worry. The living room was bright, clean, and organized. A small couch rested against the left wall, a mirror hung just to the right of it, and a kitchen table just beyond that. After seeing the outside of the house, I never would have guessed the inside would look this nice. But if all these lights were on, how could I only see blackness through the broken window? A window that was very much not broken now that I was looking at it from the inside.

  As I looked to my right, a light flicked on and illuminated a hallway. It extended deep into the cabin, with one door on either side and another at the end, all with the same design as the front door. But the hallway looked far too long for such a small cabin, especially when the outside looked like it could just barely hold the living room I stood in. And I could have sworn the roof had caved in from the outside, but it was perfectly intact; nothing broken or damaged, and definitely no tree through the ceiling.

  I shut the front door behind me and placed the checkered bag on the couch, still studying my surroundings. Everything was clean and dusted, so someone had to have been here recently. The only clutter in the entire space was a pile of papers on the table. Maybe I could figure out who this cabin belonged to and why I was coming here. I started to head for the kitchen table, but as I passed the mirror, I froze at the reflection.

  I didn’t recognize the tall girl staring back at me, but she made all the same movements I did. I ran my hand through my ponytail, spinning violet-red hair between my fingers. And looking even more unnatural than my hair were the fiery, almost glowing blue eyes that stared back at me. They probably seemed so bright next to my black shirt that was soaked in sweat and clinging to my torso. Blue jeans stuck to my figure, shaping down to a pair of Converse sneakers, all of which were splattered with blue ink.

  Holy shit.

  That wasn’t ink; that was blood. My blood.

  I shifted my arm to look at the cut, trying not to panic or hyperventilate. Most of the blood was dried, but there was still pain and tenderness around the wound. I focused closer on the cut, studying my forearm in the light. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought it looked like a lightning strike. The cut originated in the middle of my palm and traced up to my elbow, little slivers of blue extending from the bolt that split in two halfway up my forearm.

  How could a cut like that happen?

  I shook off the image of the dead man that flashed through my head and refocused on the reason why I had walked over here. On the table, I shifted the papers that were neatly stacked, picking up the ID that was sitting on top. I twisted the driver’s license with my right hand before pulling it closer to my eyes. The picture looked like the face I had just seen in the mirror; my face. How could I forget what I looked like? Was it because the eyes in the photo were green?

  Clara Rivers.

  If that was my name, it didn’t feel right, but if I couldn’t remember what I looked like, how could I remember my name? And why did none of this trigger any memories?

  I sighed and studied the details of the girl on the ID. Clara was eighteen today, and six feet tall, with this address listed. Maybe that meant I really did live here.

  Strange as it felt, this had to be me, and as much as I wanted that to trigger some sort of memory, I still felt empty. But not completely empty; I could feel something just out of reach, as if it was right on the tip of my tongue. Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to figure it out by just standing here.

  The papers were mostly school documents with Clara’s name on them. Your name. You are Clara. I was going to have to remember that. I was enrolled at West Hills High School, starting my senior year on August 28th. At least that was something.

  I took a breath. “My name is Clara Rivers. I’m eighteen years old and I’m a senior at West Hills High School.” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, and I have no recollection of my past, no idea why I woke up next to a dead man, and I have a cut on my arm that bleeds blue blood.”

  Seems like a solid backstory you got there. That won’t raise any red flags.

  Hm, sarcasm. At least that felt natural to me. If only that would help me remember something of actual value.

  2

  Clara

  After chugging two glasses of water, I decided to finish touring the cabin rather than just sleeping on the couch. It still didn’t quite feel right calling it my cabin, mostly because I couldn’t remember anything about it. The bedroom located on the left side of the hallway was decently sized, furnished with a desk and a bed that looked so damn comfortable I thought about just finishing the tour in the morning.

  The room across the hall was some sort of training room, with padded walls and assortment of training equipment. Though my guess was that I wasn’t the one lifting the weights because they were ridiculously heavy. But if there was only one bedroom, who could have been using them? It seemed like I was the only one living here, though it was strange that my parents would let me live alone. Well, maybe it would make sense if I could actually remember them in the first place.

  I stood outside the third room, looking at the handle-less door. It didn’t respond to my touch like the front or other two doors had, and it wouldn’t budge despite my forced attempts at entry. I dug around the bag I had found to see if I missed something that could help me open the door. Clothes and a book weren’t going to do much good, but what about the key on that necklace chain? My excitement was short lived when I realized the key wasn’t going to open a door that didn’t have a visible lock. I turned the bag over and shook it to see if I had missed anything.

  The half marble dropped to the ground and bounced a few times before finally settling on the flat side. As I leaned down to pick it up, I heard the mechanism inside the door click and open.

  Interesting. Had the marble really just opened the door? Could this place be magic? Maybe that book was trying to tell me something, because magic went against everything normal… at least I think. Though blue blood and no memories should have been enough to throw my logical brain out.

  I picked up the marble and shoved it in my pocket before stepping inside. The lights in the room flickered and finally illuminated an impressive, two-story library. There were ancient papers and leather-bound books scattered everywhere, cluttering the desk and lining every wall, even resting on a spiral staircase that led to the second floor. For a living room that was kept so pristine, I was surprised to see this kind of mess in such a beautiful library.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in, letting the charming yet musty smell of books calm me. Magic. This place is definitely magic.

  Forget the long hallway and collapsed roof; the cabin I had seen on the outside was absolutely not a two-story building and couldn’t have been deep enough to hide this room. Whatever was going on, I was meant to be here. Even if I couldn’t remember what was going on, this place felt familiar. I felt drawn to the cabin, and the library even more. There had to be something in here that could help me get answers.

  But before I could tackle the bo
oks, I needed to sleep… and I desperately needed a shower. If the sweat wasn’t enough to disgust me, the dried blood was going to make me sick. I made my way back to the bedroom and tried to ignore the call of the empty bed again. A towel was already folded over the side of the tub, and all the shower supplies were already inside. I kicked off my shoes, expecting the tile to feel cold against my feet, but it actually felt warm.

  I peeled the rest of my clothing off and turned on the shower to the hottest setting in a natural twist of my hand. That’s good. I have a habit. I turned to look back at the mirror and frowned. Did I have a tattoo? I twisted to get a better look at my side, the tree a familiar shape… the book! The tree printed on the cover of the book was painted into my side, curving around my hip and stretching tall onto my ribcage. There was no denying that bag was mine now.

  I moved the shower curtain and stuck my hand in the water only to yelp and pull away as the water burned my skin. Maybe I was wrong about that habit. I adjusted the handle a little more and waited for it to cool down, but it still burned. I played with the settings for a few minutes, and by the time I finally found the right temperature, I was one twist short of turning off the shower. The water should have been freezing cold but it still felt warm against my skin. Maybe the pipes out here in the woods were screwed up.