by Nia Arthurs
“Can I offer you some advice?” he says.
I stare at him, half-cringing in anticipation.
“I know how much your family means to you. That you’d do anything for them. I admire that, but I wished you’d have trusted me too. Given me a chance to care the way you do. You don’t always have to carry your burdens alone.”
“It’s my family. My responsibility. I won’t shove that on anybody else.”
“Try it someday. You’ll be surprised.” Thomas tilts his head. “That it’s easier tackling a problem if you do it together.”
My pride wants to snap at him, but I humble myself and accept his words. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
“Here’s my advice. The next time Zora sets you up on a date while you’re in a relationship, check her. You have a habit of protecting your own too.”
He laughs. “I’ll definitely do that.”
I stick my hand out. “It was good seeing you again, Thomas. I mean that.”
He clasps my hands, swallowing my fingers in his big paws. “I will never forget you, Amaya Mai.”
“Hey! Why are you two touching!” a voice yells.
Thomas and I chuckle as we glance up at Zora. I slip my hand out of his and step back. “Guess that’s my cue.”
“Goodnight.” Thomas watches me walk away.
I climb into my car, but I don’t start the engine. As much as my conversation with my ex has liberated me from some of the guilt I’ve carried, I’m too worried about Kent to soak in that relief.
Zora said he could die. And soon.
The thought makes my heart balloon with fear. I grab my purse from its perch in the front seat and fumble through the flaps until I find my phone. My fingers tremble as I hold it up and search for Kent’s number.
He won’t remember me. It’s better that way. So why does it feel like I’ll explode if I don’t hear his voice at least one more time?
Before I can scrape up the courage to reach out to him, my phone lights up with an incoming call. It’s my brother. The sight clears my head.
I’m doing this for family. I’m doing this for him. No flare of infatuation can outweigh the love I have for my brother.
“Tyron, how did you know I needed to talk to you?”
“Amaya?” His voice is breathless. Shaky.
I sit straight up and grip the steering wheel tight. “What’s going on?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Zora’s. I’m heading home now. Why?”
“Don’t visit this neighborhood for a while.”
“Tyron, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on. It’s just… Mom’s upset that you asked me to live with you.”
“Have you… thought about it?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t leave Mom alone. You know that.”
“What about Julius and those other guys? I only suggested you live with me to get away from them.”
“They’ve avoided me since that night. I think they’re afraid of you.”
I chuckle. “That’s good. They should be scared.”
“So… you won’t come around here. You promise?”
“Okay.” I pause, sensing that something isn’t right. “Tyron, are you sure—?”
“I have to go, sis. Talk to you later.” The dial tone sounds in my ear. I listen to it ring before my hand slowly floats to my lap.
Something’s wrong. What isn’t Tyron telling me?
Chapter Thirteen
Kent
Two days. It’s been two days since I learned the truth about my ‘vacation’ in Belize.
Each morning, I’m hit with those three little words written on the first line of every blank page in my journal.
YOU WILL DIE
Wilson installed B-Jogger on my phone and showed me my doctor’s reports and brain scans. Visiting Belize has slowed the progression of my dementia, but it hasn’t cured me.
In a few weeks time, I won’t be able to remember my own name.
I roll over on my side and stare at my cousin. He insisted we move to a room with two beds so he could watch over me. It’s smothering, but I get his concern. I’d do the same if the roles were reversed.
I glance at the clock. It’s after ten. Wilson insisted I get proper rest so I can stay lucid for as long as possible, but I’ve been suffering from insomnia. All I’ve got is one day, twenty-four hours. I can’t squander it on slumber.
Still, I know it means a lot to Will so I try.
Moonlight spills past the glass door leading to the balcony and pools on the floor. Wilson snores and throws his blanket off with his foot. It’s a move that’s so familiar, it makes me a little emotional.
We shared a bedroom from the age of nine to thirteen. I used to have nightmares after my parents died. Wilson would kneel by my bedside and pat my back until I fell asleep again.
He’s more like my brother than my cousin, and very soon, I’m going to forget who he is too.
Restless, I roll out of bed and pace the hotel room. Amnesia has given me a chance to be ‘reborn’ every morning but, eventually, it will kill me.
It doesn’t feel like a fair trade.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to sleep. I want to live. To experience all life has to offer. To find her.
I pull out my phone, staring at the picture that pops up. My lock-screen is an image of a woman with brown skin, short curls and a brilliant, beaming smile. My fingers brush against her cheeks.
She’s the girl in my memory. The one grinning in my bed. Amaya.
I have her number, but I haven’t called her. Don’t think I ever will. What would be the point? I’m a dead man walking. Seeking her out now would be selfish. And the last thing I want to do is wipe that pretty smile from her face.
Pacing the hotel room isn’t enough to calm me. I move carefully to the closet and slip on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. After pulling on my sneakers, I head to the lobby.
According to my journal, the park next door is a great place to clear my head.
I stroll into the lobby and glance casually at the concierge desk where a young boy—maybe fifteen or sixteen—with brown skin and short hair is handing something to a worker.
When the concierge sees me, she waves. “Mr. Barton!”
The kid ducks his head and hisses, “No, don’t.”
“Me?” I trot over to them and glance at the young man. “Who’s this?”
“This is Tyron Mai.” The concierge grins like that should answer everything.
“Hey,” Tyron says. His voice is that adolescent tinge riding the fence between childhood and adulthood. He has a split on his bottom lip, like he just breezed into the hotel after losing a fistfight. But he doesn’t seem like a thug. There’s intelligence in his brown eyes.
Familiar eyes.
Amaya’s eyes.
“Do I… know you?” I ask.
He licks his lips. “Uh…”
“Here’s the package Tyron delivered, Mr. Barton. He said it’s very important.” The concierge hands me an envelope. Technically, it’s a dirty sheet of paper folded over a square bundle.
I open the flap, my eyes widening when I see the money in the folds. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I…” Suddenly, Tyron darts away.
The concierge gasps.
I ignore her and take off after the boy. He’s fast, but I’m not too shabby either. I chase him into the park and grab the back of his hoodie, drawing him up so he almost stumbles into me.
“Let me go!” Tyron yells and struggles. The park is empty so his voice bounces against the shuttered huts standing like soldiers around the field.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I release him and throw my hands up. “I just want to talk.”
“I gave you your money back. We have nothing to talk about.”
I thrust the envelope in his face. “Where did you get this?”
His eyes land on his fancy sneakers. He doe
sn’t look like someone who’d give out money at random.
I take note of his silence and step closer. “You can answer me or the police.”
“Please don’t call the cops. My sister will kill me.”
The fact that he’s more afraid of his sister than going to jail is amusing, but I coach my expression so it doesn’t show. “Tell me the truth. Now.”
“That night… Julius said we were going to jump someone. I told them to take it easy. We were just supposed to grab the money and go.” He licks his lips. The whites of his eyes are brilliant against his dark irises. “But you fought them back so they beat you up. I tried to stop them. I—”
“Wait. Are you—did you rob me?”
His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.”
I run a hand over my face. Horror ices my veins and then turns to anger. “I could have died.”
“My sister wouldn’t have let you,” he says.
“Your sister?”
He nods.
Realization dawns and I whisper, “Tyron… is your sister’s name Amaya?”
His eyes flicker. “Yeah.”
My jaw clacks against the floor. My mind starts making connections, drawing on the information I’ve memorized from my journals.
“Did Amaya know you were involved in the robbery? Is that why she approached me?”
“She didn’t approach you. She saved your life. After it happened, you were passed out on the ground. She took you home and took care of you.”
I don’t remember any of that, but the picture before me is damning. My temper flares. “She took me home because she didn’t want me to name you as a criminal. She manipulated me.”
“She was protecting me. And you.”
“What did she plan to do if I woke up and remembered all your faces? Would she kill me then?”
“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” Tyron says through gritted teeth.
His devotion beams through his entire body. I’m almost blinded by it. Laughter bubbles in my chest. Disbelief makes it hard to speak. “You’re both crazy. I can’t believe of all the people… it had to be her.”
“What are you talking about?”
I turn away from Tyron. “Your sister loves you very much. She forced herself to hang around me after the incident to make sure I never remembered a thief like you.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I gave you the money back. I’m no thief. I don’t want to be.”
I whirl around. “What about my phone?”
“Julius sold that.” He stares at the ground again.
I inhale a deep breath and glance at his face. In the light shining from the lampposts, I notice what looks like a boot mark on his T-shirt. My anger cools when I realize what that means. I point to his lip. “Did Julius give you that?”
“Yeah.” Tyron wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb. “He wanted the money. I told him I spent it. He didn’t appreciate that.”
“Thank you for doing the right thing in the end.”
The wind rushes through the coconut tree leaves, applauding my self-restraint.
“So we good? You won’t call the cops?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Tyron frowns. “Come on, man. I can’t have the police on my tail. I already have to watch out for Julius and his crew. They threatened Amaya to get back at me and—”
“What did you say?”
“Julius threatened me. Said he’d get the money back from my sister. I told him if he touched her I’d kill him.”
My heart pounds. “What about Amaya? Did you warn her?”
“Yeah, I just called her. Told her not to leave her house tonight.”
A thought drops into my mind, and I grab Tyron’s shoulders. “What if they take the fight to Amaya?”
He visibly pales. “I-I didn’t think about that.”
“Tyron, call your sister. Don’t stop until she picks up.”
“Okay.” He clamors for his phone and then shoots me a panicked look. “Where are you going?”
“My cousin has a rental. I’ll get the keys and meet you in front of the hotel. Don’t stop calling, Tyron!” I yell as I run.
I’m out of breath by the time I shoot back into the hotel. The urgency in my heart seems out of place. Technically, Amaya is just a stranger, but I can’t control the way I feel.
I need to make sure she’s safe. It’s as necessary as my next breath.
“Wilson! Wilson!” I shake my cousin’s shoulders. “Where are your keys?”
Wilson groans and rolls on his side. “What?”
“I need your keys. Right now.”
He seems to notice me for the first time and sits up with a start. His black hair falls all over his head and his beard trembles. “Kent? What time is it, man?”
I spy the keys peeking out from beneath his pillow and snag it. They jangle noisily in my grip. “Thanks.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s someone I need to see.”
“Wait!” Wilson scrambles out of his bed. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t need to. It could be dangerous. I don’t know what I’m getting into.”
“Even more reason I should go. You’ll need back up.”
I lock eyes with Wilson and jerk my chin down. “Okay.”
He slips his feet into sneakers and follows me down the corridor with his laces untied. When I get outside and climb into the car, Wilson jumps into the passenger seat and buckles up. “What’s the emergency?”
“Amaya.” I start the engine and ease the car through the hotel’s iron-wrought gates. “She could be in trouble.”
I’m hoping my instincts are wrong and she’s tucked into her bed, perfectly safe, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
“Why are we stopping?” Wilson asks.
“For him.” I point to the young boy who trots to our car and opens the door.
“What’s going on?” Wilson’s eyes widen. “Kent, you know this kid? Is this a drug deal?”
I ignore Wilson’s dumb comment and glance in the rearview mirror. “Did she pick up?”
“No. It keeps going to voicemail.”
Wilson throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “Who? Did who pick up?”
“Tyron, give Wilson the phone.”
“Okay.” Amaya’s brother passes the device to the front.
Wilson accepts the phone as if he doesn’t know what it is. “Will someone explain what’s going on?”
“I need you to call Amaya’s number. Don’t stop until someone picks up.”
Wilson opens his mouth like he’ll argue more, but he stops and nods. “Alright.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. “Tyron, how many guys are in Julius’s crew?”
“About six.”
“Would they hurt Amaya? Should we call the cops or do you think we can take them?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “I think Julius might have a crush on Amaya, but she humiliated him that night. Beat him up in front of his boys. He’ll do what he has to to get his cred back.”
Wilson’s eyes are as wide as my fists. “This sounds dangerous, Kent. We should call the police.”
“We’ll see. Amaya went to a lot of trouble to get the heat off her brother.” I meet Tyron’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He ducks. I focus on the road and tighten my fists on the steering wheel. “We go in alone, but if they touch one hair on her head, she’s my only priority. I’ll protect her.”
“So will I. It’s my fault she’s in this mess anyway.”
Wilson moans. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Yeah, so do I.
Chapter Fourteen
Amaya
Something shatters. I wake up, disoriented and a little confused. Was that sound from my dream or reality?
Curious, I tiptoe out of my bedroom and crane my neck to see into the hall. The white curtains I bought at Moss for thirty percent
off last weekend flap in the stiff breeze.
Wait… why are they flapping?
I didn’t leave my window open. At least, I don’t think I did. As soon as I got home, I made my usual security sweep, double-checked that everything was locked and then went to sleep. There’s no way I would have missed that window.
I step forward and my foot crunches against something sharp. I glance down, holding my breath. The room is dark, but a sliver of moonlight streaks past the panes. In the dimness, glass shards sparkle on the floor. Beautiful, but dangerous.
“What the…?”
I walk over to the window, listening to the shards crunching beneath my slippers with each step. The curtain beckons like a tortured ghost. This is no dream.
My heartbeat quickens, but I brush the fear away, focusing on my annoyance instead.
How dare someone break my window and interrupt my beauty sleep?
I approach the window and tuck my fingers into the curtain, gently drawing it aside. The cool breeze batters my face as I peer out. Six figures move around my yard. One of them stops. Glances up. Looks right at me.
It’s a scene straight out of a horror movie.
Terror rises in my throat. I pull back, clutching a hand to my chest. They didn’t see me. At least I hope they didn’t.
But who are ‘they’? What do they want?
My mind trips on every possibility, from aliens hunting for experiments to Satanists looking for a sacrifice.
Police. I need to call the police.
“Where did I put my phone?” I mumble to the darkness.
Thankfully, the darkness doesn’t answer back.
As I skitter back to my room, I notice a strange object behind the sofa. I stop, half of me warning I should just run away while the other demands I investigate.
My curiosity wins out and my knees crack as I stoop on the ground. Cautiously, I reach out and poke the object. It rolls over, exposing its silver surface.
It’s a rock covered with a sheet of paper and tied snugly with clear tape.
My fingers tremble when I reach out and grab it. Glass sprinkles off the crinkled edges and land on the floor. I separate the paper from the stone and notice a message scrawled on the front.
