Soul Blaze

by Legacy, Aprille

  Soul Blaze

  The Soul Trilogy #2

  Soul Blaze

  First Edition 2014

  Copyright © Aprille Legacy

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  ISBN 13: 9781490985879

  ISBN: 1490985875

  Front cover image by Brooklens Photography

  Front cover model: Skye Foster

  Cover design by E.J Duykers and R.A Dutton T his is a work offiction.Allcharacters are fictitious. Any resemblance toanypersons livingor deceased is coincidental.

  For Eli, Lucy, Eric and Sonya. Never once abandoned by your endless support.

  ~Chapter One~

  There are few things more disturbing than waking up to your hysterical mother. I’d been awake for a little while, watching the sun pool into my room. It was as I swung my legs out of bed to go downstairs that I stepped on the one creaky floorboard, and suddenly my room was invaded by a whirlwind of tears and kisses.

  “Mum,” I said, trying desperately to pull away from her embrace. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay?” she repeated tearfully, and I thought I almost saw her smile. “Oh, Rose, my poor darling.” She pulled me to her again, and as my face was pressed into her shoulder, I was sure that we’d suffered a family tragedy.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded, now wrestling my way free of her grasp. “Who’s died?”

  That wasn’t the right thing to say. She leant away from me, heaving in air as she sobbed.

  “Oh God,” I paled. “It’s Grandma, isn’t it? Grandma’s heart?”

  “It’s not Grandma!” she shouted through her tears. “It’s you!”

  “Me?” I’d never been more confused. “But I’m not dead” “Yes, well I know that now,” she said, sitting on the edge of my bed, tears still sliding down her cheeks. “But I was starting to think-”

  “Why?” I asked. She seemed to be calming down now. “Why would you think I was dead?” “Because,” she took a deep breath, and my stomach plummeted. “Because it’s been a year since anyone has seen you.”

  My breath caught in my chest. The birds in the tree outside my window trilled and took flight. Finally I managed to croak:

  “A year?” She nodded, and I suddenly noticed that she had my left hand – along with the splint on my wrist - sandwiched in hers.

  “What happened to arm?” was the next thought that I managed to enunciate.

  “We don’t know,” she said, looking into my eyes. “When you were found on the river bank-”

  “- the river bank?”

  More desperate nods. I think she was trying to get everything out as fast as she could. “Yes. When they found you, your wrist was already splinted. The hospital patched you up with a new one, but they don’t know what happened to break your wrist.”

  “Okay,” I found myself looking at the carpet on my floor. There was a conspicuous amount of dust on it. I suppose after a year Mum must’ve given up any hope of me coming home. “Shouldn’t I be at the hospital or something?”

  “Doctor Fortescue checked you out when you were brought back here. They’d like you to be brought in though.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to that.

  “Sweetheart?”

  I looked up into my mother’s eyes.

  “Where were you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, and then realised there was nothing there. No flashes, no snippets of conversation.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly, and her face fell. “I’m sorry... there’s nothing there at all.” “What is so awful that you can’t tell me?” her eyes filled with tears again and I could see myself reflected in them, my face older and thinner than last time I could remember.

  Already I was a stranger to her.

  “If I could remember, I’d tell you,” I tried to reassure her. “I’m hungry and I need a shower.” “Alright,” she relented, but she was still upset enough that my heart twisted to look at her. “But then we’re going to the hospital.”

  “I’m not sick,” I protested as she got up off my bed and made her way to the door.

  She stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. “Then why have you lost a year of your memory?” she asked slowly, and left before I could even begin to think of a reply.

  I stood in the shower for a long time, making sure my splint didn’t get wet. I washed my hair with one hand absent-mindedly, searching my memory for something, anything to help me remember the events of the past year. There was nothing though, and by the time my hair was fruity fresh and steam was beginning to clog the small bathroom, I was close to tears of frustration. I dried myself awkwardly and dressed in jeans and my favourite green hoodie.

  As I reached for my beanie on my dresser, I noticed my shirt was a little tight. Had it shrunk? No, certainly not. It hadn’t been washed in a year – the musty dust smell coming from it testified to that fact and made me wrinkle my nose. Had my boobs gotten bigger? It wasn’t tighter in my chest though, it was around my arms that it pinched.

  I shrugged – with difficulty – and then wandered downstairs into the kitchen to look for food. That one stair still creaked, that shelf on the shoe stand by the door was still broken. The rug in front of the front door was still frayed on the left and there was still a big cobweb in the corner of the window to the right of the door.

  My house hadn’t changed, but I had. I still remembered the kitchen fire, but with difficulty, as though I’d only dreamt it. I’d been cooking steak... right? Or schnitzel?

  My stomach growled at the thought of chicken schnitzel slathered with gravy. There was no such luck to be had in the bare pantry, and I had to settle with some stale rice cakes and Vegemite (which defied age and time by never going off).

  I didn’t want to ask Mum why the cupboard was bare. I didn’t want to hear that she’d lost her job, or that she’d become anorexic.

  “I usually just got take-away,” she said, appearing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. “Since I had no one else to cook for.”

  She could still read me like a book then.

  “So I’m the only reason you’re healthy then?” I asked, attempting to make her smile.

  One flickered and then died out.

  “You were,” she said, and left the room, pulling her phone out of her pocket. I felt awful, and not just because the rice cake had been older than I thought. She didn’t believe that I was telling the truth.

  In her defence, I used to lie a lot. When I was a kid, I got my mouth rinsed out with soap a few times for being a compulsive liar. Not the brightest one either, considering it was only Mum and I living here, and I’d lie about things like ‘who drank the last of the water in the jug and didn’t fill it up?’ or ‘who put Glad-wrap on the toilet?’ That one had gone horribly wrong when I’d forgotten than I’d put it on there.

  “Okay. Thanks, Dave,” I heard her say in the living room. “I’ll bring her in now.” Her mobile beeped as she cut off the call.

  “Put your shoes on!” she called to me, already heading for the entrance hall. “I’m taking you down there now.” I groaned, just quietly enough that she couldn’t hear. I didn’t want to be poked and prodded at. But I’d do it in the hope that I could reconcile my relationship with the only person who had ever mattered in my life.

  ~ “Just roll your sleeve up for me, love,” Doctor Fortescue said to me, holding a Velcro thing. “Just going to take your blood pressure.”

  The pad inflated and squeezed my arm. Doc Fortescue watched the little dial for a second and then let it down and made a note on his computer.

  The only reason my blood pressure would be high would be if my mother was standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and nostrils flared like she did wh
en she was angry or stressed about something.

  Ah right. There she is.

  Doctor Fortescue noticed it too.

  “Christina, could you just pop out for a second? You seem to be elevating her stress levels.”

  The nostrils flared again as I turned and faced her, determinedly looking stressed.

  You’d think she’d be happier about having me back.

  My mother stalked out and closed the door behind her. As soon as it latched, Fortescue turned back to me.

  “So... went backpacking for a little bit, did we?” he asked, his blue eyes serious. “I swear I didn’t,” I replied, though I knew it’d be hopeless. “I told you, I don’t remember anything about last year.”

  “Hm,” he tapped his chin with a pen, and I knew he was trying to figure out if he believed me or not. “You shouldn’t have put your mother through it, Rose.”

  He went with the latter then. My shoulders slumped. In this town I would always be that lying seven year old. He did a few more tests and then proclaimed me to be in perfect health. My wrist was also apparently healing quickly from its mysterious injury.

  “Come back on the twentieth,” he said, writing me a small reminder. “And we could probably take it off then.” I thanked him and left the small room. My mother was leaning on the wall just outside, but before she could say one word to me, one of the nurses was calling for her.

  “Christina! Oh thank goodness!”

  My saviour huffed and puffed her way down the corridor to us. I thanked her over and over again in mind. “It’s John Lowry again, he’s refusing to be treated by anyone else but you and I told him you weren’t on today but he wasn’t going to leave-”

  “It’s alright,” my mother said, though I could see she wanted to tell her co-worked to grow a spine. “I’ll see him quickly.”

  “Give me the keys and your wallet,” I said to Mum, instinctively addressing her as I would’ve before all of this happened. “I’ll pick up some groceries on the way home. Text me when you need to be picked up.”

  She frowned. “Your phone disappeared with you,” she said darkly, and I patted my pockets out of habit. “I’ll just call the home phone.”

  She tossed me her wallet and keys, which I caught deftly to my surprise. I was generally clumsy, and with the added fact that I could only use one hand, I should’ve fumbled.

  Surprise also registered on Mum’s face, but it was gone, replaced by that mask of indifference. It was a relief to step out into the car park by myself. I took my time unlocking the car door, just allowing myself some time to breathe for what felt like the first time in months.

  It took me a few attempts to get Mum’s car going. My hands and feet incredibly uncoordinated, and I knew – by the time I’d managed to pull out onto the main road – that I certainly hadn’t been driving in my absent year.

  I pulled into the shops, just as the sun disappeared behind a wall of clouds rolling in from the mountains. The sudden breeze made me glad I was wearing my hoodie.

  I didn’t realise what effect my return would have on the community until I stepped inside the sliding glass doors. I didn’t notice it at first as I surveyed the aisles, determined to restock our house with plenty of food. I think I was reaching for a bag of apples when I saw the first double-take. I recognised the woman; she was one of my old teachers from primary school. As she stared at me, apparently unashamed, I awkwardly gave her a small wave and a half smile. I was confused by it until I saw other women do the same.

  Ar Cena is a small, country town. Everyone knows everything about everyone. My disappearance would’ve caused the biggest upheaval since I almost burnt the kitchen down. My reappearance was starting a new wave of gossip altogether. I could almost see it rising, new rumours being born in front of me.

  I waited for the confrontation. Someone had to do it. They did. I was lined up for the check-outs when someone tapped me, politely but firmly. I spun around to face them almost reflexively.

  “Oh… hi, Mrs Johns,” I said timidly. “Welcome back to Ar Cena, Rose,” she started, her steely blue eyes examining me. Mrs Johns used to be our neighbour until a few years ago. She was the type of woman who would occasionally bring over biscuits when I was little but, yelled at me to turn my music down when I was older. “You look… tanned.”

  “Do I?” I asked, genuinely mystified. I hadn’t had time to look at myself in the mirror a lot.

  “Indeed. Whereabouts did you travel?” I realised then and there I needed to make up a lie. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t tell everyone that I didn’t remember a year of my life.

  “Here and there,” I said, shrugging. “School got too much for me, you know?”

  “I see,” she said coldly, and I knew that she

  disapproved. “Are you going to be returning to school?” She was making me think of things that I hadn’t had time to consider. I decided that blasé was my best option and shrugged.

  “Dunno,” I said carelessly, moving up in line. “S’pose Mum will make me.”

  “Your education is very important, Rose. I’m sure your mother would want you to finish school.”

  I shrugged again. As I’d hoped, she let the conversation end. I paid for my groceries and hauled them out to the car. I tried not the let Mrs Johns get to me, but I found myself considering what she’d suggested as I drove home. Mum would want me to finish school. I didn’t know if I was so keen on the idea, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of going to work full time at the tender age of eighteen.

  Hang on. I was nineteen now. At some point in the last year, I would’ve turned nineteen.

  Still, I thought as I turned into the driveway, maybe going back to school isn’t such a bad idea. I unpacked the bags into the bare pantry and fridge, finishing just as the home phone rang; Mum had finished with Mr Lowry and needed to be picked up.

  The drive there and back was suffered in silence. Apart from booting me out of the driver’s seat, it was almost like I’d never come back in the first place.

  “You can clean up your car after tea,” Mum said as we pulled in. “You need to re-register it, too.” I just nodded and climbed out. Mum started cooking schnitzels (I quickly determined that I was no longer allowed near the stove), whilst I climbed the stairs to my room. I tugged the vacuum cleaner from its closet and set about cleaning the dust from every surface.

  The sun was beginning to set over the mountains, the sky streaked with pink and gold. T he sunwas setting, turningthe leaves onthe trees brilliant hues oforange andgold. It madeit looklike the forest was onfire, and itwas absolutely spectacular.

  I stomped on the vacuum cleaner to turn it off. I massaged my suddenly aching head as my hands began to shake.

  Was this it? Was this finally a flashback to my missing year? Though a sunset didn’t hold any particular clues to where I’d been, there was also the swooping in my stomach to accompany it. I’d been happy. Very happy.

  And if I’d been happy, then that was okay. I hadn’t been frightened, or angry, or scared. I pressed my hand to my window, peering out at the sky, praying for another insight into my absence. I had no such luck. The sun sank beneath the horizon and the sky bled into cobalt, the first stars beginning to wink in the heavens.

  My head was pounding furiously as I abandoned the vacuuming and headed down stairs for dinner. Mum and I ate in silence, and I neglected to tell her about my flashback or my headache; there wasn’t much that could be deduced from a sunset anyway.

  The silence was stifling, and it was almost a relief to dump my plate in the sink and head out to my car, despite the cold. I’d dragged the vacuum cleaner down the stairs with an apology and set about cleaning out the year’s accumulation of dust and spider webs, ignoring my headache, though it grew worse with the noise of the vacuum cleaner. When I straightened up and banged my head against the roof of the car, it was the last straw.

  “Oh piss off!” I snapped angrily, massaging the top of my head. I glanced up and saw Mrs Rogers
standing in her kitchen window. She hurried away when she saw me looking, as though afraid I’d tell her to piss off too.

  I climbed into the driver’s seat and rested my head against the steering wheel. My car had always been my companion, my chariot to freedom. I’d spent countless afternoons in it, reading endless books and futilely planning a future that didn’t take place in Ar Cena.

  I wrapped my fingers around the wheel. Once upon a time, this had felt familiar. Now the wheel just felt cold and unusual. I fought the tears that threatened to spill over.

  Who the hell were these people, to take a year of my life? Who did they think they were? I didn’t know that there were people involved, but there would have to be an outside influence. How else would I have ended up on the river bank? Someone had moved me there.

  My knuckles turned white on the wheel. I’ll find them, I decided. I’ll find them and demand answers. My hand groped unconsciously for the keys, but I’d left them inside. It didn’t matter anyway; after a year of neglect, the battery would be completely dead.

  I went to bed that night with too many thoughts running through my head. I watched the clouds scud across the night sky through my curtains, searching my memory desperately for any recollection.

  I couldn’t recall anything, and fell asleep more confused than before, a tear on my cheek. It felt strange to wake up the next morning and not have to go anywhere. From what I could remember of my previous life, I’d always had somewhere to go. Work, school, the library.

  I checked my clock – 11:27am. Darn. I didn’t mean to sleep in, but I’d been awake until the early hours of the morning.

  I hurried downstairs, but Mum had already gone to work. I found a brief note telling me to stay home (like I could go anywhere with a dead car anyway) and that she’d be home at five. That gave me most of the day by myself.

  Though essentially grounded, I started the day off responsibly enough by cleaning the rest of the house and doing the laundry. After a night of wriggling around on dusty sheets, I decided enough was enough and washed all of the linen in the house. As I was hanging it on the line in the bright sunshine, I spied our back fence, which was falling down day by day. We’d never been in a hurry to fix it, though, considering our back yard looked onto the forest that covered the mountains.