The Remembered

by Michael J Sanford

  "You were supposed to be home by six fucking o'clock, you selfish little whore." Each pungent word brought with it an even more fetid cloud of beer breath.

  "There was a...a..."

  "I didn't ask for excuses," Henry shouted.

  He kicked at Abby, but she spun aside and his boot caught the bed frame. "Dammit!" he shouted.

  Abby hoped the moment of pain would distract him long enough for her to get past him. She lunged for the door, seeing only the doorknob, like it was a lighthouse buried in fog. Pain exploded from her temple and her body veered sharply to the right and smashed into the dresser. She tasted blood.

  A hand seized her hair before she could find her sense of balance and she was wrenched upright. Henry brought his face level with Abby's and sneered. Abby didn't dare shut her eyes—another lesson long ago learned.

  "So, how many pieces of shit did you fuck tonight, eh, whore?" he spat more than said.

  Abby shook her head, whimpering, "I was at work. I swear. There was a—"

  Henry shook her until she stopped talking. "I don't give a good goddamn who you let poke around your bits. But I'll be fucked myself before I feed another mistake."

  Abby said nothing. She even held her breath.

  Henry squinted at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. His brow furrowed deeper and he flung Abby onto the bed. Her head snapped against the mattress.

  "You better not be pregnant again," Henry said, stumbling toward the bed.

  Abby rolled upright. "I'm not. I swear I'm not."

  Henry pointed a grease-stained finger at her. Her eyes danced and struggled to focus on it. "Bad enough I have to take care of one bastard—"

  "What?" Abby said before she realized what she was doing.

  Henry reared back like he'd been slapped.

  Something washed over Abby, rising up from an unknown corner of darkness and desperation. Or perhaps it came from a bitter acceptance of her fate. Maybe the words that were flowing toward her tongue were generated out of a desire to finish things—a suicide mission.

  "His name is Joshua," she said, sliding off the bed to stand toe to toe with her father—a monster of a man that easily dwarfed Abby in every respect. "And you don't do anything to raise him. I do. Even Mom does more'n you. You do nothing but sit on your—"

  Henry backhanded her hard enough that Abby felt at least one tooth knocked loose. She only barely kept her footing, reaching back to steady herself on the bed. She spit a mouthful of blood, phlegm, and teeth onto the mattress and turned back to him, standing even taller. She stared back at him, jaw set.

  "Look who grew a fucking dick," Henry said. "You and your bastard would be nothing without me. I provide for this family—for your mother, for you, and for your abomination."

  "Joshua," Abby said defiantly. Whatever the reason, she was drawing a line in the sand tonight.

  "I'll call that little shit whatever I damn well please. This is my house, and I say what goes and doesn't go. And staying out till the morning, fucking everything that moves, does not go."

  Abby tried to maintain her stare, but it was quickly wavering. He was right in some twisted way. She would have left long ago if she thought she had even the slightest chance of being able to take care of Joshua on her own. But she barely made enough money to provide used clothing and food for the child. For everything else, she relied on her parents. And Henry knew it.

  "When will you learn?" Henry asked. He stepped forward, forcing Abby to fall back onto the bed. "Stand up! You want to act like a man tonight? Then stand up."

  Abby came shakily to her legs. Wherever the brief burst of defiance had come from, it was gone now.

  Henry punched her in the nose. Abby crumpled back to the bed and grabbed at her face. She tried to bring her legs to her chest and curl up, but Henry grabbed her legs and yanked her off the bed. Her body slapped against the floor.

  "Stand up!" he shouted.

  Abby tried again to curl up, but he kicked her in the ribs. She gasped, rolled, and rose to her knees.

  "Stand. Up."

  Her face was already swelling, taking away her vision, but she stood. Is tonight the night I die? she thought.

  He struck her again, this time sending her body spinning into the wall. Her legs abandoned her, but Henry pinned her against the wall before she could fall. He pressed his mouth against her ear, panting hot and humid. But he said nothing more, and after a moment let her fall into a broken pile. He stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Abby stayed where she'd fallen until she heard her parents' door open and shut. Then she broke into fitful sobs. It wasn't even the worst beating she'd gotten that week, but it had felt the vilest. Henry's feelings toward Abby's son were never shaded, but he seldom even addressed his existence. But what could she do?

  The door clicked softly open, causing Abby to flinch and look toward it as she struggled to move in the opposite direction. But it wasn't Henry returned for more.

  Joshua entered the room, pushed the door shut behind him, and toddled toward Abby. She fought to gather herself, wiping the blood and tears from her face, but there was no repairing the damage. So she settled for sitting against the wall and allowing Joshua to fall weightily into her lap. He wrapped his tiny arms around her chest and she weakly gripped him.

  He said nothing, but his presence twisted something deep within Abby. It twisted and broke. Henry was right about another thing, though not in the way he meant it. She was selfish. But the tiny body against hers scolded her for being so. The brief moment of fire she'd felt in her confrontation with Henry renewed itself. It blossomed from a spark into a raging blaze that pulsed to every corner of her body.

  "Joshua, honey," she whispered. Joshua looked up at her. "Can you be really quiet?"

  Joshua nodded.

  Abby smiled. "Good. Because we're leaving. And we are never coming back."

  A flicker of life lit up in Joshua's eyes and he smiled. Abby pulled him tight against her chest and squeezed with everything she was worth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  WYATT DIDN'T KNOW what to say. He had lived the memory as if he had been Ms. Abagail, just as she had lived his. And as the memory fell away like sand, replaced by the blinding white of snow drifts amid the treacherous peaks outside Sanctuary, Wyatt could do nothing but reach for Ms. Abagail's hand in silence.

  Wind howled through narrow mountain passes, sounding like ghostly whispers. Wyatt could see the outer wall of Sanctuary and the high tower of the Observatory. They hadn't traveled that far from where'd they'd left. But standing in two feet of snow, after witnessing something he was never meant to see, Wyatt couldn't have felt further away from everything he knew.

  Ms. Abagail accepted Wyatt's gesture and squeezed his hand. She was turned away, looking out over the endless mountains, the wind wrapping the shock of pink hair around her face.

  "I forgot," she said. "Funny how the mind does that, huh? Makes you forget just enough to change everything you think you know. And now...it's like I never forgot in the first place. That was the worst day of my life, but it was also the best."

  Wyatt looked up at that and saw Ms. Abagail smiling. She shot him a quick look before returning to look at nothing.

  "We never did go back," she continued proudly. "We left for good, just like I knew we needed to. And the next day I did what I should have done long before that night." She paused, but Wyatt still couldn't formulate any words of his own and so he stood there, braced against her side, amid a wind like frozen knives, and an uncertainty that left him dizzy.

  "We stayed in a shelter for a while until the adoption agency found a match. It took a while, but it gave me time to say goodbye. I wanted to hold on to him so badly, but that night forced me to do what I should have done in the first place—to put his needs first. The family that eventually adopted him was just...perfect. In every way that I wasn't. It hurt. God, it still hurts, to know I couldn't give him the life he deserved. I wasn't ready in the least. But I know h
e's taken care of. He'll have the life I wasn't able to give him. And that's worth...everything."

  Wyatt squeezed her hand and said the only thing he could think of. "Sorry," he whispered.

  She looked at him, tears glittering along her cheeks. "I guess part of me didn't want to remember that Joshua or my father existed. At least not as they actually were."

  "Does it feel better to remember?"

  Ms. Abagail sighed. "No. It's like living it all over again. But I'm happy in a way. Happy to have lived through it. Happy to know I took care of Joshua in the end. And happy to know what I'm capable of. I lied to myself for a long time about...all of it. I gave myself an entirely made-up past, thinking I could somehow get away from it."

  "But you still ended up at The Crook. And with me," Wyatt said.

  "Yep," she said. "Somehow I ended up right where I was supposed to."

  Despite the cold gnawing at his skin, Ms. Abagail's words warmed him from the inside out.

  Ms. Abagail stiffened. "Did you hear that?"

  Wyatt looked around at the snowy landscape and the impenetrable side of Sanctuary. The wind howled, but some other sound was woven into its voice. It sounded like words, shouting perhaps, but it was difficult to make out.

  "There!" he said, catching a glimpse of movement from the tallest peak of Sanctuary.

  "Oh my God," Ms. Abagail said. "Is that..."

  Wyatt grinned. He'd recognize that plume of unnaturally red hair anywhere. "Athena!" he called out.

  The figure waved and then fell from the open balcony. Ms. Abagail gasped, but Wyatt stilled her with a laugh. As Athena tumbled through the air, iridescent wings flared to life behind her and sculpted her fall into a controlled glide that brought Athena and her spriteling transport to a stumbling halt amid the snow bank in front of Wyatt and Ms. Abagail.

  Wyatt hurried to help the pair out of the snow. He grabbed Athena's arms and righted her while Ms. Abagail dug Maia out.

  "How the hell did you get out here?" Athena asked, wiping snow off Maia's back.

  "It's a long story," he replied.

  Athena raised an eyebrow and looked at Ms. Abagail. "Ms. Abby, you all right?"

  Ms. Abagail wiped the last of her tears on the backs of her hands and nodded. "Yeah."

  "Good," Athena said with a terse nod. "Because we've got a helluva problem." She gestured back at Sanctuary.

  "Regents, I know," Wyatt said. "We're working on it."

  "Looks to me like you're out here makin' snow angels," Athena said.

  "It's a long story," Wyatt repeated.

  "Uh huh..."

  "We were on our way to rescue you," Wyatt said.

  Athena scoffed and rolled her eyes.

  Maia stepped up, still shaking snow from her wings. "We were fortunate to still be in the Observatory when the Regents invaded. Some soldiers came through at one point, but we were able to avoid detection."

  "So," Athena said. "Now what?"

  Wyatt's gaze burrowed into the side of Sanctuary as if he thought to look through the stone. "Do you know where the Lord Regent is?"

  "Sure as shit we do," Athena said.

  Wyatt didn't bother asking how she knew. "Good. Then that's where we're going."

  "Uh huh..." Athena said slowly.

  "He has Rozen," Wyatt said.

  "Oh, shit. Really?" Athena asked, her tone quickly changing.

  "We saw her taken in," Ms. Abagail said.

  "Well...shit," Athena said. "All right, so let's finish this, then. And get back your princess."

  Wyatt looked at Athena, seeing her familiar stubborn stare. For a moment, he felt guilty, knowing more of her past than she likely did. And knowing she would soon have to face it just as he did his.

  "Hey, where's your sister?" Athena asked, as if reading Wyatt's mind.

  "Uh..." Ms. Abagail said.

  "Another long story?" Athena asked.

  "Something like that," Ms. Abagail said.

  "She's with us," Wyatt said as he began walking toward Sanctuary. "In her own funny, out-of-this-world, unbelievably insane way."

  The others quickly caught up with Wyatt and fell into lockstep with him. Their presence added to the fire burning at his core. It's almost done, he thought.

  "The head bastard is set up in the Great Hall," Athena said. "Haven't seen him, but we heard some soldiers talking about it. Seems no one is allowed in, except his Lordship." Athena spit into the snow. "What do you wanna bet he has your princess with him?"

  "I'm counting on it," Wyatt said coldly.

  "And what do you want to bet it's a trap?" Ms. Abagail asked. "Only the Lord Regent is allowed in there? He knows we're coming. He has to. With the Bad Man, the Regency has always been right behind us, like a shadow."

  "Well, now they're in front," Wyatt said.

  "For whatever that's worth," Ms. Abagail replied.

  Wyatt led them to the base of the Observatory tower. There had to be a way back into Sanctuary nearby, he thought as he put a hand to the cold stone of the mountain citadel. The Regents had invaded from the mountainside. If we can just find the same entrance...

  "Oh, there you are!" a voice called from nearby.

  Wyatt looked up, stunned, as Henrick trudged through the snow toward them, appearing from around the curve of the tower wall. Wyatt's eyes flicked to Ms. Abagail, but he couldn't read her expression.

  "Aren't you the little magic boy?" Athena asked as he came to a stop in front of the group, breathing heavily.

  "Magic?" Henrick asked. "Oh, no. I'm just a boy. Now, if we do not get you all out of this weather, you will surely become permanent fixtures of the landscape."

  "You shouldn't be here," Wyatt said.

  Henrick gave him a passing frown before walking back the way he had come, waving a hand over his shoulder. "And a fine greeting to you, too, Wyatt. Now, please follow me and I will see that we all get back into Sanctuary, where we will be safe—well, where we'll be warm, at least."

  "Well, shit, lead on. My tits are freezin' off here," Athena said, walking after the small boy, Maia at her side.

  Wyatt walked to Ms. Abagail's side. "I don't get it," he said.

  Ms. Abagail took a deep breath and followed after. "I do."

  Henrick stopped at the point the curve of the tower terminated against a long expanse of flat wall. The terrain was treacherous, and a few more feet further along their path led to a precipitous drop. The boy gestured at the wall. "Well, in you go."

  "Is this a joke?" Athena asked as Wyatt and Ms. Abagail reached them.

  On the stone side of Sanctuary, nestled against the gentle curve of the tower above, was a painting of a door. Even from a distance, it could never be mistaken for a real door. The edges were not even straight or parallel. It looked to have been painted by children.

  "What's going on?" Athena asked, looking back at Wyatt. "That door isn't even real."

  Wyatt glanced at Ms. Abagail again, not knowing what to say. In some way, Henrick was a part of Ms. Abagail's self-imposed delusion. Wyatt didn't understand near any part of it, but he had thought the boy would just...vanish now that Ms. Abagail had accepted her past.

  "Well?" Henrick asked, looking around the group. He seemed far more impatient than he usually was.

  Still Ms. Abagail said nothing.

  "I don't know what your weird little friend is doing, but—" Athena's words snapped off in midstream as Maia pulled sharply on her arm, put a finger to her lips, and pointed away from Sanctuary with the other.

  "Draygans," Wyatt hissed.

  The winged, fire-braided slave warriors of the Regency were circling the sky, looping close to Sanctuary in tight groups and then spinning outward. They moved so swiftly it was hard to count their number, but there were more than enough to slaughter Wyatt and his group.

  "Hey, weirdo," Athena hissed at Henrick. "Stop dickin' around and get us inside."

  Henrick frowned at her, smoothed his shirt, and gestured at the painting. "That is precisely what I am tr
ying to do. Help you all inside. I am nothing if not helpful."

  "You are," Ms. Abagail said. "Helpful. In fact, you have done nothing but help Wyatt and the rest of us."

  "It is just as I was trying to explain previously," Henrick said. "I only want to—"

  "Oh shit," Athena said. "They see us."

  Wyatt looked upward only long enough to see the tight pattern of Draygans shift and begin to fly toward them. The nearest were still far enough away, but it wasn't likely they had more than a minute to vacate the area.

  "Please," Henrick pleaded. "I am trying to—"

  "Be exactly what I wanted you to be," Ms. Abagail said. "You are exactly what I wanted you to be. Always there to help. Never crass or rude. You always show up at the right time with the perfect solution. Because it's what I wanted you to be."

  "That is just what I am," Henrick said.

  "No," Ms. Abagail said, shaking her head and displacing the freshly fallen tears. Wyatt could see the photograph clutched in her hand, shaking at her side. "You're not. I wanted so badly for you to be those things. And I thought that if I held on to the image of you as a child, I could believe that at one point you weren't evil. That at some point there was some good in you." She straightened out the photograph and stared at it.

  Athena and Maia clutched at one another, but said nothing. Wyatt knew they were running out of time, but he trusted Ms. Abagail. He had to.

  "I saw so much of Joshua in this picture," she continued. "I needed to believe you weren't a monster. As if that would have some bearing on who he would become. But that version of you doesn't exist. It's not real." She looked up with cold fire in her eyes as she stared down Henrick. "You're not real."

  "I most certainly—"

  "No!" Ms. Abagail screamed, stopping Henrick cold. "You're not real. My father was a drunk, abusive son of a bitch that beat me every single day of my life and made me believe that neither my son nor I could possibly survive without him. But that was a lie, too. It was all lies. Whatever twisted image of my father you are, Henrick, you are not real."