You Will Remember Me

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  Sam nodded, watched me for another few seconds before standing up. “I have to pack. You’ve got my cell number. Call me as soon as you hear anything. And even if you don’t. Okay?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  I accompanied him to the front door, where he gave me a hug and a fatherly kiss on the top of my head. “I can’t believe this is happening, Lily. You know how much I think of Jack.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, grateful he hadn’t spoken about him in past tense. I closed the door behind him, relieved to be alone again, yet scared because it meant I had too much time for my mind to wander the desolate roads I didn’t want to travel. Sinking back down on the sofa, I allowed myself to wonder if I’d ever know the truth about Jack if he failed to come home. And then I wondered if it might be better if I didn’t.

  * * *

  I woke up bathed in sweat after dreaming I couldn’t breathe. The pain in my lungs, hot and searing, made me open my eyes and mouth wide as I sucked in air before coughing and struggling to get a grip. I reached out my arm, but the realization I was on the sofa, not my bed, and Jack was still missing, all sucker punched me right in the throat. Squinting at the clock I saw it was barely after 9:30 p.m., but I was wide awake and there was little point trying to get back to sleep for a few hours at least. I stood up, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my jacket and headed outside.

  The winds and rain hadn’t stopped, and the air was laden with moisture, all of it dulling the crunching noise the gravel made beneath my feet. I got in my car and drove, unsure of my destination until my instincts took me to the beach. The cops had removed Jack’s truck, and there were no other vehicles in the lot, but I parked, got out and walked to the water, the wet sand squelching up into my shoes.

  “Jack!” I screamed.

  The waves crashed on the beach. Was he out there? Had he long slipped beneath the surface, his lungs filling with water, dragging him farther and farther to the depths and beyond? Stevens and Heron implied Jack might have taken his own life, but I couldn’t believe it, I wouldn’t. I knew him.

  Do you? a little voice in my head sneered. Maybe you don’t know him at all.

  I couldn’t stay at the beach with these terrible thoughts, alone and in the dark, and so I decided to go to Jack’s place to search for him, comfort, or anything to relieve the pain inside me. Sam’s Porsche sat in the driveway, but all the lights in his house were off, so I climbed the steps to Jack’s apartment without making a sound. Heron and Stevens had already checked the place for “clues,” which I’d interpreted as “suicide note,” but they’d found nothing, and while I hadn’t thought I’d be strong enough to come here, all I wanted now was to be surrounded by Jack’s things.

  Using the flashlight on my phone, I searched for the spare key he left in an old flowerpot, but it wasn’t there, and when I lifted the mat, the space underneath was empty. Sam would understand if I rang his doorbell and asked him to let me into Jack’s, but as well-intentioned as he was, I couldn’t take another round of sympathetic looks and mother-hen clucking. I needed to be alone.

  The lock on Jack’s kitchen window had been loose for a while, something he’d intended on fixing for days. I hoped he hadn’t got around to making the repair, and, sure enough, when I jimmied the pane it opened far enough for me to climb in. I left the lights off in case they alerted Sam to my presence, took off my shoes and walked down the hallway to Jack’s bedroom. I knew the place was empty, but still had to fight back the tears as I pushed open the door and saw his neatly made bed with the dark blue duvet cover. After stripping down to my underwear, I pulled on a pair of Jack’s pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, clutching the latter to my chest as I finally let myself go, sobbing and begging.

  “Jack,” I whispered. “Please come home.”

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs outside made my breath catch in my throat and I leaped up and ran down the hall shouting, “Jack? Jack!” I pulled the front door open and looked down the stairs, ready to jump into his arms, but immediately froze. Even without seeing his face I instinctively knew this wasn’t Jack. The man was tall and wiry, wore a black hoodie he’d pulled down over his forehead, obscuring most of his features. White skin, a beard perhaps, or maybe it was a shadow, but I definitely couldn’t make out his eyes as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses nobody needed to wear at this time of night.

  “Who are you?” I said, my voice sounding a lot firmer than I felt on the inside.

  He glanced at me, took a slow, deliberate step forward and opened his mouth to respond when another car I’d never seen before pulled into the driveway behind us. Sam got out, and as soon as I called out to him, the man on the stairs backed off and disappeared around the side of the garage.

  “Who was that?” Sam said, frowning as he walked over. “A friend of yours?”

  “I don’t know.” I wrapped my arms around my middle. “One of Jack’s maybe? Someone who wanted to check up on him?” I tried to make myself believe the words, but they wouldn’t stick. Who would come looking for Jack in the dead of night? And whoever it was, why didn’t he say anything, not even to ask if Jack had been found?

  Why would he run away when Sam pulled up?

  “I thought you were home,” I said quickly. “I saw your car.”

  “I was out for dinner. Got an Uber.” He paused for a second. “How did you get into Jack’s place? I took the spare key earlier.”

  “The window.” I shrugged. “I wanted to be...you know...close to him.”

  Sam gave me a small smile, nodded his understanding. “Here, use this next time.” He pulled out a bunch of keys from his pocket and took one off the ring before handing it to me. “I’ll fix the window first thing in the morning. Make sure nobody else can get in that way.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” I said, trying not to shudder. Up to that point I’d considered spending the night in Jack’s bed, but now the thought made my skin prickle.

  7

  THE MAN FROM THE BEACH

  When I woke up again a couple of hours later it was dark outside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust, even longer to remember where I was. My entire body had gone numb from lying on the floor of the house, and my back popped as I sat up. The winds outside had increased, whistling an eerie tune through the walls, whooshing down the chimney and blowing an uncomfortable breeze onto my neck. I needed to get warm, and when I peered between the cracks of the boarded-up window, I saw the convenience store was still open.

  Once I’d climbed back out the way I’d come in, I crossed the street and went inside the shop, sighing as the comforting warm air blanketed itself around me. As I stood in line behind another customer, waiting for him to pay, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost half past ten at night. The cashier wasn’t the man who’d given me the bathroom key earlier, and this woman had pink streaks in her short blond hair, her lips the color of cherries. When she looked at me, she narrowed her baby blue eyes and a shadow of a frown crossed her face, disappearing so quickly I decided I must have imagined it.

  “How much for a coffee?” I said, curling my chilly fingertips into my palms. The woman didn’t move, and I pointed to the machine behind her. “Uh, a coffee, please?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s on special. Any size for a dollar.”

  “Great. I’ll have the biggest. Can I have the bathroom key first?”

  After another attempt at washing the grime off myself, I handed back the scuzzy key and headed to the snack aisle on the hunt for something cheap, the chocolate and pretzels I’d scarfed down earlier not satisfying me in the least. The only other person in the shop was a short, red-haired woman who stood in front of the fridge, a chicken sandwich in one hand, an egg salad in the other, looking like she couldn’t make up her mind. I looked at the basket on the floor behind her feet, filled with bread and packets of peanuts, and there, on the top, sat a phone. If I had a cell phone, I could search fo
r clues about Brad and Rosalie. I could combine those with the name Ash, in case the woman I’d called earlier hadn’t made a mistake, in which case I could try to speak to her again.

  I glanced at the cashier, who’d turned her back to us and was talking into her own phone. Sandwich lady had gone for egg salad, and now debated her choices of a pot of fresh fruit vs. veggie sticks. As I walked past her, I casually bent over, snatched the phone from the basket and slid it into my pocket.

  “Hey!”

  I kept walking.

  “Excuse me! You took my phone.”

  I froze. Could I make it to the front door without the woman tackling me to the ground or the cashier blocking my exit? Even if I made it outside, where would I go? They’d spot me running to the derelict house in an instant. They’d call the cops, and I didn’t know where else to hide. Besides, I was too exhausted to make it far. Perhaps honesty was the best option. Give the phone back, apologize and leave. I turned, took in the woman’s face. She had smooth, porcelain skin and she’d opened her big green eyes so wide, I thought they might pop out and skitter across the floor like marbles.

  “Is something wrong, Fiona?” the cashier called over.

  The woman called Fiona said nothing as she stared at me, her jaw dropping. “Ash?”

  “No. That’s not my—”

  “It’s really you! When did you get back?”

  The jingling bells on the front door, and the man walking into the shop, spared me from having to answer. “Hey, sis,” he called over to Fiona once he’d spotted her. “Are you coming, or what? Did you grab some beer?”

  “Oh, boy,” she whispered under her breath. “I didn’t want him to see you.”

  When the guy looked more closely at us, he narrowed his eyes and walked over, his head perched on a neck larger than my thighs. He had to be close to two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it muscle, and as he approached I saw he had the same eyes as his sister’s. His hair was the identical color, too, although his had been cut short and bristly, emphasizing the enormity of his skull. He ambled up to us, arms swinging by his thick sides, his jaw making sinewy movements as he observed me.

  “What are you doing back in town?” he said, more of a snarl than a proper sentence. Who was this guy? And what did he want from me?

  I held up my hands. “I don’t know who you are.”

  He howled with laughter, and nothing like the genuine kind. “You think you can pretend not to recognize me? It hasn’t been long enough, Asher fucking Bennett.”

  “Keenan,” Fiona said before I could answer. “Knock it off. Ash, what’s going on?”

  I took off my baseball hat, as if that might lessen their confusion. “My name’s Brad.”

  “Cut the crap.” Keenan came closer, making me take a step back and butt up against the packets of popcorn and tortilla chips, which crinkled as they squished against my stolen jacket.

  “Really,” I said, feeling trapped and getting ready to take a swing at him if he came any closer. One punch would have to suffice, and better make it a big one so he couldn’t get up quickly enough to retaliate. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who I am.”

  Keenan opened his mouth to say something, but Fiona got there first, holding out her hand. “Give me my phone, I’m calling Maya.”

  “She was here earlier.” The cashier walked up to us with a curious expression on her face as I handed the phone to Fiona, not knowing what else to do. “Asked if I’d seen him.”

  “Who’s Maya?” I said.

  “Maya’s your sister.” Fiona patted my arm. “She’s your sister, Ash.”

  “She showed me your photo,” the cashier continued. “Gave me her number and twenty bucks. Said I should call right away if you showed up, so I did when you were in the bathroom. What’s going on?”

  “You remember Maya, don’t you?” Fiona said, ignoring the question as I shook my head.

  “This is bull,” Keenan barked, his voice loud and forceful, making the three of us flinch in unison. “You’re so full of it, Ash. You always were, even before Celine—”

  “Stop it, Keenan,” Fiona snapped. “Can’t you see something’s wrong with him?”

  “Something’s wrong, all right. He’s back, and I told you if—”

  The door opened again, and another woman rushed in, her head on a swivel, panicked eyes darting around the place. As soon as she saw me, her hands flew to her mouth, and her face crumbled. She ran over and threw her arms around my waist as her head thudded into my chest.

  “Ash!” she said, trembling as she squeezed tight. “Oh, God, Ash. I can’t believe it!”

  I wanted to argue my name was Brad, but with it now being four against one, the effort seemed pointless. Besides, I had no idea how else to respond to her emotional outburst, and so I didn’t speak. Instead, I gently pushed her away and stepped back, taking in her jaw-length raven hair, and watery, piercing gray eyes she now searched my face with, making me feel like she was somehow peering into my soul. This was Maya? And she was my sister? Christ, how I wanted to remember her. I scoured every part of my brain for the slightest trace, but found only a deep, dark void where everything about my past should have been.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered, and her husky tones were definitely the ones I’d heard earlier on the phone. No question. This was the woman I’d spoken to.

  “I think there’s something wrong with him,” Fiona said quietly. “Why doesn’t he recognize any of us? It’s like he has amnesia or something.”

  “Amnesia?” Maya said, turning her head but keeping her eyes on me. “Ash, what happened to you?”

  “I don’t know who I am,” I said, my newly found voice rising along with the alarm growing inside me. All these people surrounding me, telling me my name was Ash, not Brad, and that Maya and I were related... It made me feel cornered. Hands and voice shaking, I said, “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know—”

  “I’m still calling bullshit,” Keenan said. “It’s an act.”

  “Why are you even here?” Maya threw him a disgusted look before turning her attention back to me, her face softening. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t remember.” It came out way more forcefully than I’d intended, and she recoiled a little, making me want to kick myself. If she knew me, maybe she could help. Her and Fiona’s concern felt genuine, not like Keenan, who stared at me now as if he’d be happy to set me on fire, providing he’d doused me with an accelerant first to make sure he finished the job.

  “But you called me,” Maya said. “You dialed my cell.”

  “The numbers kept running through my mind,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know why.”

  “Go to a hospital,” Fiona said. “Seriously, he needs to get checked out.”

  “I will. I’ll get him to a doctor.” Maya grabbed my hand, her skin soft and warm. As I mumbled a thank-you to her she handed the cashier what looked like a few bucks before pushing me to the exit.

  “Let me know how it goes,” Fiona called over, at the same time as Keenan shouted, “It’s still a pile of bullshit.”

  The door slammed shut behind us. Maya looked at me, took two steps, turned around again and pointed a finger at me, her concern changing to something else, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. Anger? Disappointment?

  “Are you faking it?” she said. “Pretending not to know who you are? Who I am?”

  “No—”

  “Is this because of Keenan or something? Or because I found you, and you’re going to leave again? If so, you can stop now, because it’s not funny.”

  I had zero clue what she was talking about. What did she mean when she said she’d found me, and why did she think I’d leave when I’d just arrived? “I’m not faking it. I promise.”

  Maya threw a glance over my shoulder and pulled a face. “We’d
better go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Home. To our house.”

  I stepped away from her. “But I don’t know you. And why did you give the cashier money?”

  “Because I asked her to call me if you went back to the store. I was desperate,” Maya said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “And you do know me. I’ll prove it to you. I’ve got photos of us, right here, see?” She held up the screen, and I leaned forward, staring at the picture of this woman named Maya, and me. Her hair had been cut since the picture had been taken, and mine had grown, but it was definitely us, sitting on a porch of some kind, a couple of beers raised at the camera. “That was taken at the house. In Newdale. Where you lived for over half your life. Please, Ash. Come with me so I can show you, and before Keenan comes outside and starts up again. We can do without his stupidity.”

  I glanced through the window. He and Fiona stood by the row of fridges, and Keenan had what looked like two six-packs of beer under one arm. From what I could tell, they were in the middle of an argument, Fiona shaking her head and gesticulating with her hands. Maya was right, it probably wouldn’t be long before they stepped outside, and he’d be in my face again.

  “He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” I said.

  Maya’s face softened. “Not exactly. You have a history. I lost count how many times you two got into dustups at school over the years. You really don’t remember?”

  “No, I really don’t,” I snapped.

  “What do you recall?” she asked gently.

  I tried to steady my voice long enough to explain how I’d woken up on the beach in Maryland the night before and found my way to Maine without understanding the need to be here. “I thought my name was Brad, because—” I pointed to my wrist, already knowing how pathetic I’d sound “—because it says so on my watch.”