by Valia Lind
"It didn't come," I say, after another minute goes by in silence. I think we were all waiting for me to end up on the floor, screaming in pain at a memory, and yet, somehow, I was able to push it away. Or something did.
"Calista," Brendan begins, speaking softly, "I know this is not what you want to hear, but what if we tried accessing your memories?" I can feel his breath on my hair, his nearness, his uncertainty. We discussed this when we first came to Maxwell's, right after my last memory flash.
"I thought we decided it was too risky," Maxwell calls from his place on the floor. I turn to meet his concerned gaze, avoiding any contact with Brendan as I step around him. He's right. We did decide it was too dangerous. Especially since I'm still so weak in my magic. Every time I reach for anything in my past, the pain is too much. Brendan was the one to say it's too much, and now he's saying we should try. I know it’s because I was able to push the pain back just now. He’s trusting me to stay in control.
And just like that, I feel that I have to trust his instincts.
"What do you suggest?" I ask, turning to face him. He exchanges another look with Maxwell and I have a feeling they have discussed this without me.
"We should see if there's anything you can remember that can give us a clue into who did this to you. Your memories come back in flashes with no distinct direction. If we tried to guide you into a certain event, or an idea, maybe it will trigger something within you. You're stronger now than you were a week ago. I know this is a lot to ask, and if you're not feeling up to it—“
"No," I interrupt, "I will not let you backpedal on this. You're right. I need to try. I have to fight this. I want my memories back." I turn to Maxwell, who's staring at me with his mouth slightly ajar and I give him, what I hope, is an encouraging smile.
"You know what to do?" He snaps to attention with a nod. "Good. Then let's do this."
I sound much braver than I feel.
12
Laying in the middle of the bed, trying to relax my body as much as possible, I'm nothing but nervous. It's near impossible to calm down with Brendan and Maxwell on either side, watching me like their life depends on it.
"Guys, could you not stare so much?" I chuckle, because I'm pretty sure neither one of them has looked away since we've walked into Brendan's room. I'm not about to say so, but I'm glad we're in his room instead of mine. His bed has the unique scent that's all Brendan and I find it oddly calming.
"Are you ready?" Maxwell asks, focusing me back on the task at hand. I nod my head, turning away to stare at the ceiling.
"Good. I need you to close your eyes and listen to my voice. We're going to try this the old fashioned way of visualization first." My already closing eyes snap open.
"What do you mean? I thought you were going to work your voodoo or something."
"First of all, I'm offended. I do not practice in the human dark magics. Second of all, I'm not succumbing you to majyk until we've tried all our other options." I open my mouth to protest, but he raises his hand, silencing me. "No, Calista. Even this is already too risky. I’ll help you only if you let me do it my way. Someone did this to you with majyk. I can't risk damaging you further if we try to fight it with more majyk."
I didn't think of it that way. I know he's trying to help, but the word damaged is exactly how I'm feeling and it stabs me straight through the heart. I shut my eyes, hoping no tears escape. The more I'm around these two, the more I realize just how much of myself I'm missing. I knew there was some black hole in me before, I knew there were parts that didn't seem like they fit. But now—now that I know who I'm supposed to be, this feeling of suspended animation is more than intensified. It's like I'm supposed to be in motion, but I'm stuck.
I feel a slight pressure on my right hand and I open my eyes enough to see Brendan's apprehensive gaze. His hand wraps around my fingers, and I cling to him like a lifeline. Not for the first time, I want to ask him if he can read my mind, if he can tell what I'm thinking, because he always seems to know what to do. I see understanding in him and the urge to cry becomes stronger. Tearing my eyes from his, I look at Maxwell and nod.
"Let's do this."
Maxwell begins to hum, a melody that sounds almost familiar but I can't place it. Cuddled in the warmth of the song and the comfort of the bed, I sink deeper and deeper. Maxwell begins counting backwards from twenty, and it's as if he's moving away with each word.
"Cali, can you hear me?"
"Yes," it takes all of my concentration to just get that one word out. I'm not sure how I'm expected to speak, I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time.
"Good. Let's go back to the day of the party. Can you tell me where you are?"
Without opening my eyes, I'm teleported back to that day. The first image that pops up is my bedroom. I see myself getting ready with Jemma, but it’s as if I'm watching a movie, with me as the star.
"I'm in the dorm room with Jemma. She's trying on her dress. I bet she's worried about me." I can't believe I have left her alone this whole time. I need to tell her about me, even though I'm not sure how to do that.
"Focus, Cali. Is there anything specific about this part of the day that called to you?"
I start to shake my head, but stop. Pushing past the fog in my mind, I focus on why this memory came up. When I do, a gasp escapes.
"What is it?"
"There was a smell coming through the open window."
"Why is that important, Cali? Tell me."
"Because I've smelt it before. And after. It was in the courtyard earlier in the day. And at the party, after those monsters came for me."
"What was it, Cali?" Maxwell asks, keeping his voice low and soothing. But the memories come unbidden and then the pain. I scream, instantly getting lost in the images.
I'm inside of a small house. It looks like something of a psychic lair, filled with trinkets, herbs, and pictures on every wall. I know I've been running, because my clothes cling to me, and I'm dripping with sweat. The smell of the forest and gunpowder assaults my senses and I'm gasping to catch my breath. A woman with fiery red hair is leading me farther into the back room. I can't see her face, but I hear her voice.
"You'll be safe. You need rest and you can do that here." We walk into a tiny room, just big enough for a bed on one side of it and I collapse into it. That wretched Shadowlands smell clings to my skin, but I'm so tired I can't seem to make myself get off the bed now. My eyes are closing before I can form another thought.
"Rest now, Warrior. You're safe." The voice soothes me to sleep and I'm ripped away with my screams.
My body propels off the bed like a bullet and I'm as sweaty as I was in my memory. I slam into Brendan, fire burning through my body as I try to claw off my skin. It's too hot. Oh so hot.
I can't breathe, as if smoke is filling my lungs. Someone is trying to hold me still, but I have to get away. I'm screaming and thrashing and fighting with all my might.
The arms that were holding me are suddenly gone and I hear a cry of pain as I scramble to find the nearest exit. Before I'm two steps out, I'm caught from behind, strong hands pinning me to a solid chest. I hear shouting, but I can't understand the words over my own screaming. Someone else is trying to pin my legs down. I'm blinded by my own rage, the agony is too much. All too much. My back bends in unnatural ways, as I'm lifted off the floor. The need to get out of this human prison is overshadowing all common sense.
The need to destroy rises up inside of me.
Suddenly, a cold stream of water is in my face and I choke at the sheer shock of it.
Coming to my senses, I realize I'm in a bathtub. I'm drenched within seconds, my body slowly relaxing under the cold shower. I glance up and find Brendan and Maxwell panting on the floor next to me. I see bruises forming on both of them and instantly feel ashamed. My body starts to shake from the cold and the embarrassment. And the truth: I hurt everything I touch.
Brendan reaches over to shut off the water, and I slam against the opposite wall,
trying to get as far away from him as possible. I don't want him to touch me. I don't deserve for him to touch me. I'll hurt him. I will. He doesn't say anything, just watches me for a moment longer. Then, he grabs a towel off the rack, placing it around my shoulders and lifts me from the tub.
"You don't have to—“
"Shh," he pulls me into his lap, wet clothes and all, and wraps his arms around me. Now that I'm here, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. I tuck my head under his chin, curling myself into a ball as he runs his hands up and down my back in a soothing motion. He holds me close, offering me whatever comfort I need and I don't know what to say or do. I want to scream. I want to punch a wall. I want to cry.
And in the end, that's the part of me that wins out.
I'm not sure how long we've been sitting here, but neither one of us seems to want to move. Brendan is letting me cry all of my frustration out, so I hold on. He's my grip on reality, the focus point as my life spins out of control. I fit perfectly into his arms, as if I was created to spend a lifetime here. There are so many ways I wish that was true, but I understand that it's not. A part of me realizes the truth of our predicament even if all I want to do is lie to myself. The reality cannot be ignored any longer.
Knowing I have to let go, I push back to look up at him. There's a bruise on his left cheek, turning blue and purple already. I reach out with my hand, running my fingers over the swelling and I hear his sharp breath intake.
"I'm sorry," I remove my hands quickly, folding them in my lap. Maxwell is no longer in the bathroom with us and I'm not sure when he left. I'm not looking forward to facing him. I duck my head, and try to slide off Brendan's lap, but he won't let me go. Bringing his fingers to my chin, he lifts my head towards him, gazing into my eyes.
"Are you okay?" His words bring another set of tears, but I push them down. I need to get a hold of myself. I can't let his concern break me again. Instead of falling apart, I nod my head and try to move away once more.
"Can you stop trying to get away and talk to me?" This time, I shake my head in reply. "Calista."
"Don't Calista me in that tone of voice. I just attacked you and Maxwell. You should be as far away from me as you could possibly be. It's not safe for either of you to be around me, okay?"
"Is that how you see yourself?" Brendan asks, softly. My eyes snap to him, but only for a brief moment. "If you think of yourself as danger, then that's what you'll become."
“Thanks for that, Dr. Phil,” my words drip with sarcasm, but he won’t be deterred.
“We become who we believe we are.” He says, softly.
Not exactly sure what to make of that statement, I disentangle myself from his grip and get to my feet. Sweat and water are running down my skin, and I can't bring myself to look at Brendan again. I feel him get off the floor as well, moving around me toward the door.
"Someone messed with you, Calista." He says, "We'll fix that and then we'll make them pay. Focus on that part. Focus on that anger. You are the best at what you do and once you realize that, no one can stand in your way."
"Why do you keep believing in me so much?" I whisper, without turning around. I don't think I can look at him right now and not lose it all again.
"Because I know you, Calista. Once you learn to know yourself, you'll see what I see."
"And what is that?" I almost don't ask. Sometimes, maybe, it's better to wonder about things than to actually have answers. But I'm braver than I give myself credit for, because the words are on my lips before I can stop them.
It takes Brendan a million years to answer, but he gives me back the sun with his words.
"Someone who is capable of anything."
I let him go back into the room, before reaching for another towel and wrapping it around my shoulders. Only then do I finally look in the mirror.
The haunted look in my eyes is there just as I expected it to be. But no matter how scared I may look, there's an underline of determination within me. That's what keeps me going. That's what's going to get me to the finish line. I want to hide inside the bathroom, because going out there and facing both of them seems like too much. But I've never thought of myself as a coward and I can't start being one now. Gripping the towel closer around me, I follow Brendan out.
Maxwell looks up from his place on the love seat and I notice the bruises right away.
"Oh, Maxwell. I'm so sorry."
"Don't sweat it, love. Not the first time you've punched me in the face."
Brendan makes a disgruntled noise from beside me and I don't feel like pursuing that line of conversation at the moment. Instead, I say something that surprises us all.
"Ready to hear what I saw?"
Maxwell sits up straighter at my words, pride shining in his eyes, and I take encouragement in that. Quickly, I tell them about the woman and the house. Neither one seems to know who she is, and I realize I was hoping they did.
"Do you have any idea where this was?"
"Not at all. But I think—I don't know."
"What?"
"I think it might've been close to where I crossed over. I was wearing weird clothes, almost like something off a Xena episode. And I was younger. Maybe a year or so younger than I am now."
"That sounds about right," Maxwell speaks up, "That's about the time you came here."
"Guys, what about all my other memories?" I risk asking the questions that've been racing through my mind for days now. "My childhood, my parents, is any of that real?" The boys exchange a look and for a second I'm afraid they'll try to sugar coat it. But then Brendan gives Maxwell a small nod, and the other boy turns to me.
"No. We believe all of that was part of whatever made you forget. A set of replacement memories created to keep you from realizing who you are. What do you remember about your parents?" Maxwell asks softly.
"I lost them," my breath catches at the words, "They were in an boating accident my freshman year of high school. I was supposed to go live with my aunt afterwards, but she didn't want to take me out of school. I remember the funeral, the days after of people coming by. I finished high school and then left for college." I stop, baffled by my words, at how easy they rolled off my tongue. Maxwell nods again, as if it's something he expected.
"Are they real? Are they really dead?" My voice rises at the last word, because I'm unable to control the sense of loss that overcomes my senses.
"No, Cali." Maxwell hurries on to answer, "They're alive and well. Back home, in our land."
I exhale a sigh of relief, my heart rate slowing down at Maxwell's words. They're not dead. I'm not alone. I have a family. These thoughts rush through my mind and I let myself smile, before another concern enters my mind.
"What about Jemma? Is she part of this?" I'm terrified to know the answer, but I can't hide from the truth. "Is there anything real in my life?" I ask the question out loud, even though I wanted to keep it inside. I glance at Maxwell first, then dare to look at Brendan. He's the one who answers.
"Jemma is real. You made that friendship all on your own. You can trust that."
I nod, exhaling the tension from my body. Jemma and I are like sisters. I would be devastated if I lost that. If nothing else, at least I can believe in her. It's why I've been so anxious to bring up these questions that, technically, I should've asked ages ago.
Tugging the towel closer to me, I try to dissipate the chill running through me. There's something there, underneath my skin, that I can't quiet reach. All this talk of fake memories and coming to this realm is doing weird things to me and suddenly, I'm so tired.
I glance up to find Maxwell and Brendan both watching me in that studious way of theirs and I try on a smile to calm them. But I'm not sure how deceptive it is, since they both start moving toward the door.
"We'll let you clean up," Maxwell says and then without another look, walks out of the room. Brendan hangs back for a second, as if deciding if he should say whatever is on his mind.
"There should be some clothes in the dres
ser. You are welcome to anything. I'll see you soon." He doesn't wait for a response, but unlike Maxwell, doesn't even bother using the door. I blink and he's gone.
"You know this isn't my room!" I yell into the air, but it's too late anyway. They're both gone. I shake my head, but I'm thankful they left, because I can barely move. Walking toward the dresser takes all of my leftover energy. I strip as quickly as I can once I'm in the bathroom and pull Brendan's t-shirt over my shivering body.
I'm not sure if it's the aftershocks of the memory or my need to ask questions, my mind just seems to have had enough. I stumble out of the bathroom and fall into the bed. Pulling the covers over my aching body, I am asleep in seconds.
13
There's a purple tint to the air around me. It's so thick that I can almost reach out and touch it. But when I try, the mist dissipates, moving away from me, as if in fear. I am once again wearing a ball gown, this time the color is deep green, covered by a glittering material. It looks like I'm wearing the stars.
I'm walking through an empty courtyard and my hand reaches out to touch the plants as I pass them. There's an order to my movements, a practiced ease that seems to come with years of experience. It's as if I'm leaving an essence of me with every touch and the thought makes me smile.
Watching myself make the progress across the yard, it's like I'm suspended in two places at once. I am the person walking in front of me, but I'm also the one watching from the sidelines. I don't think I can control where this is going, but I'm going to try. The other me stops for a moment, studying a flower bush in front of her. I will myself to move forward, to put my dream self in front of the dream. It's not as easy as it should be, and maybe, that's another side effect of the magic preventing my memories.
