Something to Remember: Prequel to Forget Me Not

by Willow Winters

  Who was I to help her? The guilt washes through me and the back of my eyes prick with unshed tears as I take in a shuddering breath, shoving my hands in my pockets and turning back to her grave.

  As much as I’d like to believe I’ll let her rest now, I know I’ll be back. It’s selfish of me. She just wanted to be left alone. She needed that so her past could fade into the background. I know that now; I wish I knew it then.

  “She’s in a better place,” Karen whispers and my gaze whips up to hers. She doesn’t have the decency to look me in the eyes and I have to wonder if she just said the words because she thinks they’re appropriate. Like it’s something meant to be said when talking of the dead, or maybe she really believes it.

  Karen turns to walk toward her car as the sprinkling of rain starts to fall onto us. She looks back over her shoulder, waiting for me and I relent, joining her.

  I’m sorry, Marie.

  As the cold drops of rain turn to sheets and my hair dampens, my pace picks up. It doesn’t take long until we’re both jogging through the grass and then onto the pavement of the parking lot, our heels clicking and clacking on the pavement with the sound of the rain.

  I barely hear her say goodbye and manage a wave behind me as I open my car door and sink into the driver seat.

  I just wanted to help Marie. I could see so much of myself in her. We were almost the same age. She had the same look in her eyes. The same helplessness and lack of self-worth. I wanted to save her like my psychiatrist saved me.

  But how could I? I’m not over my past. I should have known better. I should have referred her to someone more capable. Someone who had less emotional investment. I pushed too hard. It’s my fault.

  The pattering of rain on the car roof is eerily rhythmic as I dig through my purse, shivering and shoving the wet hair out of my face. The keys jingle as I shove them into the ignition, turning on the car and filling the cabin with the sounds of the radio.

  I’m not sure what song’s on but I don’t care because I’m quick to turn the radio off. To get back to the silence and the peace of the rainfall. I slump in my seat, staring at the temperature gauge. When I look up, I see Karen drive away in the rearview mirror. Watching her car drive out of sight, my eyes travel to my reflection.

  I scoff at myself and wipe under my eyes. I look dreadful. My dirty blonde hair’s damp and disheveled, my makeup’s running. I lift the console and grab a few tissues to clean myself up before sluggishly removing my soaked jacket and tossing it in the backseat. The heater finally kicks on, and I still can’t bring myself to leave.

  I look back into the mirror and see that I’m somewhat pulled together, but I can’t hide the bags under my eyes. I can’t force a false sense of contentment onto my face.

  I close my eyes and take in another deep breath, filling my lungs and letting it out slowly. I need sleep. I need to eat. It’s been almost a week since I found out about Marie. A week of her no longer being here to call and check in on. Tears stream freely down my cheeks. I tried so hard not to cry; I learned a long time ago that crying doesn’t help, but being forced to leave her is making me helpless to my emotions.

  That first night I almost cried, but instead I resorted to sleeping pills. A wave of nausea churns in my stomach at the thought of what I did. It was so easy to just take one after the other. Each one telling me it’d be over soon. After downing half the bottle, I knew what I was doing. But the entire bottle was too much and it all came back up before I could finish it. Thank God for that. I’m not well, and I’m sure as hell not in a position to help others.

  My hand rests against my forehead as I try to calm down, as I try to rid myself of the vision of Marie in my office, but other memories of my past persist there, waiting for this weakness.

  I can’t linger any longer. Putting the car into reverse, I back out of my spot, turning and seeing Marie’s plot in the distance as I back up.

  Grief is a process, but guilt is something entirely different. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate the two, and I know why.

  She reminds me of him.

  Of a boy, I knew long ago. The turn signal seems louder than ever as I wait at the exit to turn onto the highway. Click, click, click.

  Each is a second of time that I’m here and they’re not. Click, click, click.

  The cabin warms as I drive away, merging onto the highway.

  Maybe all this has nothing to do with Marie.

  Maybe it’s just the guilt that summons the vision of his light gray eyes from the depths of my memory.

  Maybe it’s because I’m to blame for both of their deaths.

  Chapter 2

  John

  The faint sounds of the radio disappear with a loud click as I shut it off. It’s an old ass black box, covered in oil and grime from the shop, but it still works. Without it, the garage is silent. I wipe my hands with the blue shop towel, picking under my short, thick nails and scrub against the rough callus on my left thumb.

  I'm a blue-collar mechanic, and there’s not much more to me. Day in and day out, I work at my shop on the outskirts of town. The old oak trees and converted barn on the far side of the property are everything I need. I like my peace and quiet out here. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t get a bit lonely at times, but I don’t need companionship. I don’t need anyone.

  I turn to look over my shoulder at the banged-up cherry red Chevy truck. That’s going to take a bit of work tomorrow when Steve gets in. Fixing that side door would be a pain in my ass to do alone. And now that Steve’s gone home, it’s just me.

  That damn truck can wait till tomorrow.

  All the tools are back where they belong except for a few wrenches on the bench. The shop itself is old, with a cracked concrete floor and chipped red paint on the far wall where the hangar's attached to the garage. When I bought this place, it was rundown and in desperate need of fixing up. I love the charm of it though, how it's beaten down but still standing strong. The history is what I look forward to when I come here every day. The property itself is large. An old pilot used to live here. He loved two things in his life, the ducks on the lake out back and his airplanes in the hangar.

  Poor old man didn’t live long after he sold the place to me. I’ve still got an old Ercoupe from the 1940s he left here. I meant to fix it up, but time’s gotten away from me and work’s been steady.

  I toss the cloth onto the bench and stretch my back, reaching my arms over my head and letting out a deep sigh. My back cracks, and it feels damn good. It's been a long day of hard work. And I'll have another one tomorrow. That’s what I live for.

  The dim evening light streams through the open garage door, bringing a crisp breeze with it. It feels relaxing. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling the exhaustion flow through me. I don’t know the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Doesn’t matter how many hours I seem to get, I’m never well rested.

  I pull the thin, dirty white t-shirt over my head, feeling my sore muscles stretch even more. My denim jeans sit low on my hips. They’re dirtied too, but I don’t give a damn about them. I ball up the shirt and rag, tossing them into the bin and get ready for the short walk up the hill and to my house on the other side of the dirt road.

  The familiar sound of the door to the shop creaking snaps my eyes open. My body tenses, and my muscles coil. The shop’s closed, and there’s no one else out here for miles. There isn't a single reason anyone should be walking through my shop right now. I can hear heavy boot steps walking back here to the garage.

  I straighten my broad shoulders as I slowly and silently pick up the largest wrench on the bench, my eyes staring straight ahead at the open door to the garage. The cold metal easily slips into my palm, feeling just right as my heart thumps and my breathing steadies. I only make it a single step when Jay steps into the doorway.

  He’s just as tall as me, which would be intimidating to most. My arms are corded with muscle from years of hard work and manual labor. As are his, although
I haven’t got the faintest idea what he does. I’ve never asked.

  We’re both daunting men, the difference is that I try to hide it. I’m not looking for a fight or to scare anyone. I’m not sure Jay is either, but he can’t hide the darkness inside him or the terror of his past that eats away at him.

  There’s a softness about my eyes and a gentleness in my rough voice. It’s enough to make people comfortable enough with me to get along just fine. There’s not a damn bit of that in Jay. There’s a hard edge in his eyes that never leaves. His shoulders turn in just slightly like he’s ready to fight at all times. He could maybe fool you with charm, since he’s got some of that in him, but the way his eyes pierce through you is enough to send a chill down your spine.

  I’m usually not intimidated or frightened by anyone. I can stand on my own and take care of myself when I have to. But Jay has a side of him I’m pissed to admit frightens me. Not because of what he’d do to me, since I know I can take him. And not because I think he’d come for me. I toss the wrench down on the old wooden bench and start walking toward him, wiping my palms down on my jeans.

  Jay’s not a threat to me; he’s not my enemy.

  The fear is because I never know what Jay’s going to do. He’s fucked up in the head from his old man. Anger management doesn’t even begin to describe what he needs. He’s got problems I don’t know how to handle, and it doesn’t matter how much I try to help him. Some things you just can’t fix.

  Nonetheless, Jay’s been there for me when I had no one. And I know why he’s the way he is. I don’t see him much, especially not since I picked up and moved to this tiny ass town, but if he needs me, I won’t turn my back on him.

  Jay’s eyes light up and a smirk plays at his lips as he saunters down the wooden steps to the garage and gestures at the wrench. “You think that’d stop me?” he asks with playfulness in his voice.

  I grin back at him, stopping to lean against the Chevy’s cargo bed in the middle of the large garage and shrugging my shoulders. A rough chuckle vibrates up my chest and I look back to my hands.

  Jay’s boots smack on the floor as he comes to my side, bracing a hand on the back end of the truck and looking over his shoulder at the door.

  “You bring someone with you?” I ask him.

  He frowns a bit, shaking his head and looking down at the ground. He never comes with anyone. I may be a loner to some extent, but Jay is something different. I’m not sure if he prefers it that way, or if it’s because he just doesn’t trust himself.

  “I got a favor to ask.” He stands beside me, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and leaning back against the truck with me, mirroring my posture. He stares straight ahead and runs the back of his hand over his nose before saying, “You can’t tell anyone.” His voice is deadly low, and it makes my blood freeze in my veins.

  I stare at him, waiting for more, but nothing comes. I clear my throat and try to relax against the hard metal.

  I crack my neck to the side and nod my head. “You know I’m not going to say shit, Jay.”

  He nods his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he continues to avoid my gaze. He swallows thickly and says, “I’m gonna do something... and I need your help.”

  He finally looks at me, his eyes as cold as ice and narrowed. “There’s a woman.” My heart thuds once and my hands start to clench into fists, but I keep it from happening. Every bit of me is screaming to back out now, to tell him I don’t want to hear it.

  But I know what he’s capable of, and I need to know who she is and what he’s planning.

  “A woman?” I ask. A chill flows in waves down my arms as if a cold draft has come through. I ignore the churning in the pit of my stomach. He’d never hurt a woman. Never. I know him. There’s no fucking way he’d ever put his hand on a woman.

  “She’s broken, John.” His voice is full of pain, and he breaks the gaze first. He talks to the ground as he adds, “She needs my help, but she’s not going to want it.”

  “Then don’t,” I answer simply. If she doesn’t want the help, there’s no fucking reason he should approach her. He’s got a warped sense of reality.

  “She’s hurting because of me,” he admits quietly.

  Tension grows in every inch of my body. I focus on my breathing, on staying cool and calm. Jay’s violent and hot tempered. I stretch my jaw and look away, trying to convince myself it’s going to be okay. That I can change his mind or stop him from whatever fucked up bullshit he thinks is going to happen.

  “I have to,” he says with conviction as if he read my mind.

  It’s only then that I see the dark circles under his eyes and how weary he looks. “Maybe you-” I speak without thinking, just trying to keep him appeased and take control of the situation.

  “No,” he interrupts, shaking his head before I can even finish. His body looks just as tense as mine as he pushes off the truck. I think he’s going to leave, but instead, he starts pacing, running his hands through his thick short hair. “It’s because of me,” he confesses without stopping as his strangled voice repeats in nearly a whisper, “It’s because of me.”

  My chest squeezes tight with pain watching him like this. It’s been years. I haven't seen him break down since we were children. Weak. Pathetic.

  The words whisper in the back of my head and he stops in his tracks, turning slowly, giving me a deadly look as if I said them out loud. For a moment, I think I may have. But he relaxes his stance and walks toward me slowly, stopping a few feet from me.

  “She needs help.”

  “Then get her help from someone else.” I answer him simply, licking my lower lip and hoping he’ll reconsider whatever his plans are.

  His eyes narrow slightly as he cocks his head, an asymmetric grin growing on his face. “She’s going to help me, too.” The way he says the words, so softly, with so much confidence and conviction, forces me to stare into his eyes, realizing there’s no way to get him to stop.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask, crossing my arms and trying my damnedest to just stay calm.

  “I just want to get her alone and talk to her.”

  “Kidnapping-” The word is ripped from my throat before he cuts me off.

  “It’s not what you think,” he says, his own hands balling into fists so tightly his knuckles turn white. The air is tense and thick between us. The sun setting makes the garage darker than it was only moments ago.

  “You want me to help you kidnap her?” I ask him, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. The smile stays in place on his lips as he searches my eyes for something. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded photograph. It’s been creased twice, once down the middle and again at an angle off-center. He smooths it in his palm, finally looking away from me and answering, “I don’t need help there, John.” His voice is sad, as if he already regrets taking her.

  He passes me the photo, flattening it against my chest with a hard thud and not letting go until I reach up to take the photo with my own hand.

  “I just want you there to watch.”

  Adrenaline pumps through me at his request, anger rising in me. “And what am I going to be watching?”

  “I just want to talk to her. I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to fix her.”

  “Then get her help-”

  “She’s a shrink now,” he says quickly. His eyes water slightly and he sniffs, looking away to take in a ragged breath. He licks his lower lip and looks back at me, willing me to understand. “She tried to kill herself,” he says in an even voice I don’t trust. “She grew up okay, you know?” He shakes his head once and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know she wasn’t okay. I didn’t know.” I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to himself. His face is scrunched up with genuine pain.

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s just a girl. I broke her, and I need to fix her.” The strength in his tone solidifies his plan. He wraps his hand around the thin railing to the steps and mutters under his
breath so low I almost don’t hear him as he walks away, “And she’s going to fix me.”

  “You won’t do this without me?” I yell at his back, more a command than a question. I’ll figure out something to keep him from doing this. I have to.

  He turns to look over his shoulder, his face all raw pain and agony. He nods his head once. “I have to do this, but you need to be there. For me and her, John.” His eyes dart to the floor, then back to me. “I’m going tomorrow night,” he says and then turns back to leave, taking another step.

  “I’ll go with you,” I tell him quickly. He only nods his head and keeps walking. I know he heard me, and I know where to find him when I finally get a grip on what the fuck is going on. I only have a few hours to figure something out. But I will.

  It’s only when I hear the faint click of the front door to the shop that I look down at the photo. I run my fingers down the creases to flatten it as best I can and take in the sight of a beautiful woman.

  Her pale skin is complemented by the dark locks of her hair. I’m not sure where she is in the photo; it could be anywhere. The background is merely a brick wall as she looks off into the distance.

  I don’t know who she is, but she seems so familiar. The way she smiles, the look in her eyes, they strike something in me. A memory I don’t have access to.

  Jay’s told me what happened when he was younger. The descriptions were so vivid I felt as if I was there. I run the tips of my fingers over her face, wondering if she’s really the girl he talked about all those years ago.

  I glance up at the empty doorway reluctant to believe Jay and to trust he’s not going to hurt her. I can’t help him do this, but I need to be there for her. I need to protect her. That one thought rings through my blood. I need to be there to help her. I need to get her away from Jay.