by Nia Arthurs
“It’s not easy,” he says.
A picture forms in my head. “So, Wilson wants the company. He does something to get you out of the way. Something you discovered yesterday. You left a warning on your chest, but no details as to what that thing was.”
“That’s about it.”
I shake my head. “No offense, but couldn’t you have left at least a note? A key to a secret locker? Anything other than a warning on your chest?”
“I’m beating myself up too.” Kent runs a hand over his face. “The Wilson I know isn’t the type of guy who would screw me over, but then… my last memory of him was three years ago. He didn’t even have a beard then. He could have changed.”
“You think he’s the one who stabbed you?” I ask softly.
“No.”
“How are you so sure?”
Kent remains quiet.
My mind churns. I’ve heard stories of families turning on each other for money. I’ve watched my share of Lifetime movies about the subject too. But Wilson doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who would stab his own cousin for a measly company.
“What are you thinking?” Kent studies me, his green eyes darkening. “I can see the wheels turning in your head.”
“It just doesn’t make sense. Why would you force yourself to remember such a huge, hard-to-believe fact and not back it up with evidence?”
Kent frowns. “Now you know how frustrating it is to be me. There are so many questions I can’t answer.”
“Kent,” I sit straight up, “what if you wrote the answer in your journal and someone—Wilson—tore the page out while you were sleeping.”
He gazes at me, eyes narrowed. “He wouldn’t.”
“Again, you don’t know that.”
“Still… Wilson encouraged me to read my journal this morning.”
“Exactly.” I snap my fingers. “He was confident you wouldn’t find any evidence. Why? Because he’d already disposed of it.”
“I did notice pages torn from the journal, but none from the most recent entries.”
“I did too,” I muse.
He freezes. “When did you read my journal?”
“Uh…” My first instinct is to lie, but given Kent’s obvious struggle with trust and deceit, I tell the truth. “It was when we first met. I wanted to know what you thought of me so I read a little bit of your journal.” I hold my fingers an inch apart. “It was just a peek.”
“Really, Amaya?”
“I’m sorry.” I push out my bottom lip and try to look pitiful. “Don’t be mad.”
Kent sighs.
I rush to fill the quiet with my thoughts. “Maybe Wilson was intentionally trying to steal your memories. He wanted to erase anything that would point to him.” I pause. “What about the app?”
“What about it?”
“Can that be manipulated too?” I think back to my traumatizing years taking I.T. in high school. “I’m pretty sure you can hack into someone’s account and change things around if you have the right tools and knowledge.”
“That… sounds familiar.”
He’s squinting into the light. I lean forward. “Like painful familiar? Like a flashback to high school familiar? What?”
“I’m not sure.”
I try to restrain my groan of disappointment. Kent’s favorite phrases are ‘I don’t know’, ‘I’m not sure’, ‘I have no idea’, and ‘I don’t remember’. If we stay together, I might have to ban those words or at least give him a limit.
“Is there a way you can check? You made the app, right? You should know where to search.”
“Yeah.” He gets a determined look in his eye that makes him ten times more attractive than he already is. “Wilson must have left for the airport by now. The hotel room should be empty. Shall we?”
It’s not the first time a guy’s asked me into his hotel room, but it is the first time we’re going to find evidence his beloved cousin stabbed him.
Kent stands and waits for me to climb off the stool. I shake the sand for my dress before we head back to the hotel. The sidewalk is filled with employees from the nearby businesses heading to the park for something to eat.
I should probably force Kent to have lunch, but I know he’s going to reject me. Truth is, I’m not that hungry either. If Wilson is the one behind Kent’s stab wound, my stomach roils at the thought of what he’ll try next.
The hotel gates are wide open. As soon as we walk inside, the air conditioning blasts over us. Kent keeps his hat on even though the sunshine is no longer an issue.
The moment we pass the concierge desk, I notice Uniqua waving us over. She smiles so happily that, even though I’m in a pensive mood, I can’t help but smile back.
“Hey, Amaya.” She cuts Kent a look. Her brown eyes are huge, but they still manage to form slits when she grins. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too.”
“Kent gave me the impression he’d forgotten you,” Uniqua shares, her voice low and teasing. “He kept asking about you like you were some stranger.”
“Did he?” I nudge Kent in the side.
He clears his throat. “That’s an over-exaggeration.”
“Sure it is.”
Kent leans his pale hand on the counter. “We’re kind of in a rush. Do you need something?”
She slides a clipboard toward me. “Just the usual registration for guests. Oh, and Wilson said to tell you he’d bring a gift when he returns.” Her dark eyes twinkle. “What’s that about?”
I exchange a look with Kent.
He tilts his head and in a stilted voice says, “We’re not sure.”
“Thanks for the message.” I slide the form back to her. “We really need to go.”
Uniqua waves at our backs as we board the elevator and watch the doors close in front of us.
As soon as it shuts, I turn to Kent. “What do you think he meant by that? A gift?” I lower my voice. “What if it’s something sinister? What if he tries to kill you again?”
“We don’t have any proof that Wilson stabbed me the first time.” Kent strides out of the elevator and I scramble to follow him. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“Hey, you’re the one who told yourself not to trust him.”
Kent grunts in reply.
We dart into his hotel room. Kent heads straight to the laptop and logs in.
I hover over the back of his chair and watch while he works. He’s completely immersed. Green eyes glued to the screen. A few seconds after he sits down, a black window with white characters pops up.
My eyes glaze over. “I’m just gonna sit.”
I don’t think Kent hears me.
I plop on the bed and surf the web on my phone while Kent does his thing. A few minutes later, he turns the chair around slowly. His face is pale, his jaw slack.
I rush to sit up. “Kent? What did you find?”
“Five entries in the weeks leading up to my trip here were deleted.”
“Five? Can you retrieve them?”
He shakes his head so his hair flops. “There’s no way to get them back. All those memories…” He half-gasps as if Wilson had carved the memories out of his brain instead of his cloud.
“Would anyone else have the ability to do that?”
“Wilson and I are the only two who know the master key. It’s not impossible that someone else is behind this, but who would go through all that trouble just to erase a few documents from my cloud?”
I jump off the bed and approach Kent. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t believe it.”
I touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he croaks. His hand snatches my wrist. He holds me tightly, like he’s tethering himself to the world. “My whole life, the one person I knew I could always count on was Wilson. When nothing made sense, I ran to him. And now this? Why?”
“I’m so sorry, Kent.”
He wraps his hands around my waist and buries his face in my middle. The r
oom expands with a mournful silence. My brain works double time, searching for words that will ease Kent’s hurt. But there are none.
All I can do is hold him while he shatters and pray I can put him back together.
As I pat his back and feel him shudder beneath Wilson’s betrayal, a fierce need to protect him wells in my chest. The moment Wilson sets his grimy little feet back in Belize he is going to pay.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kent
I go to sleep that night with the intentions of forgetting the horrific things I learned today.
Ignorance is bliss, right? I’d rather walk blindly into a trap my cousin set than go to war with him. It’s one benefit of my condition. I can remember whatever I want and thus shape my reality.
But Amaya won’t have it.
“Have you figured out a plan to stop Wilson?” she asks as we eat breakfast on the small balcony outside my hotel room.
I almost choke on my Johnny cake. “What?”
Amaya dives into a recap of what we discovered yesterday and I relive the trauma all over again. After I’ve calmed myself, I sit straight up and stare at the Caribbean Sea in the distance.
“I was thinking,” Amaya says, “maybe Wilson didn’t stab you. Maybe he hired someone to do it.”
“Maybe,” I croak, still shocked and unable to contribute much else.
“I’ve decided to ask around the place where we found you that night. See if anyone recognizes you or what you were doing. It might give us a lead about who you were meeting and why.”
That perks my ears. “No way.”
“I’m not asking your permission.”
“It’s too dangerous. If Wilson could do something like that to me, there’s no telling what he’ll try on you.”
“What if there’s a bigger conspiracy at play here?” Her dark eyes glimmer with intrigue. “What if your accident wasn’t actually an accident? What if your parent’s accident wasn’t an accident?”
I stiffen. “There’s no way.”
“You said your aunt took over your parent’s business and expanded it. It’s possible they killed them off to—”
“Stop!”
Amaya clamps her lips shut.
I let out a troubled breath. “I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just… give me a minute to process. Please.”
“I’m sorry. It must be like you’re hearing this for the first time.” Her voice is even, but there’s a tinge there that warns I’ve messed up.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s fine. Really.” She stands and pushes her plate away. “I should go. My boss wanted me to stop by the Cultural Institute to help with a project.”
“Don’t go.” I reach for her hand.
She leans back so I can’t catch her. “This is my job, Kent. I can’t just ditch.”
“Amaya, at least let me take you.”
“There’s no need. I’m good.” She reaches over and plants a kiss on my lips, but it’s quick, closed and cold. As if she’s kissing me out of obligation rather than passion. As if she’s still pissed and trying not to show it.
I watch her walk out, torn between running after her or letting her calm down and grovel back into her good graces later. When the door bangs shut, I shoot to my feet but the reminder that she’s going to work holds me back.
Later. I’ll definitely make it up to her later.
I’m cleaning up Amaya’s half-eaten plate of food when my cell rings. It’s Wilson. I must have given him the number sometime during his visit.
What does he want?
I should answer, but I can’t get myself to move. Amaya will kill me if I accuse Wilson over the phone or do anything that will tip him off to our suspicions. But I can’t pretend everything’s alright either.
It’s just not in me.
He calls again. The incessant ringing gives me a headache. I force myself to bend over and scoop the phone up.
“Hello?”
“Kent, you okay, man? You took a while to answer.”
“I was in the bathroom,” I lie.
“Oh.” Wilson cruises right over that. “How are you doing? You miss me yet?”
“No.”
“Guess I wouldn’t miss me either if Amaya was keeping me company.” Wilson barks out a laugh. “Anyway, I just called to warn you. I stopped by Mom before my meeting earlier. She says Violet was asking about you. I think she might be heading your way.”
“Violet?” I frown. “She’s coming here? To Belize? Why?”
“Because she’s Violet and she does what she wants.” There’s a rustling in the background and then Wilson says, “Sorry, Kent. It’s a whirlwind over here. If you want more information about her flight, call Mom. She’ll give you the details.”
“But—”
Wilson hangs up.
I stare at the phone, stunned. The Violet I remember from college kept her distance from me. After she and Wilson broke up, she completely slipped out of my orbit.
That’s why her presence in my journals continues to stump me. I think… Violet and I were close. But I don’t remember any of the events I recorded.
Weird.
I call Aunt Katrina just in case. I’d rather be prepared for a visit from my old friend than be blindsided in front of Amaya. She’s already ticked at me and I don’t want Violet showing up and causing a misunderstanding.
Aunt Katrina surprises me by answering my video call in ten seconds flat. I took a chance when I dialed her number, but I’m glad it paid off.
Her face fills the screen. Like Wilson, Aunt Katrina has dark hair and brown eyes. A dainty pair of gold-rimmed glasses dangles on her short nose. She’s wearing something floral and loose over her shoulders. Maybe a kimono?
“Kent!” She draws the camera closer and presses a kiss to the screen. “I’ve missed you so much. How are you? How is Belize?”
“Belize is great and so am I.”
“Are you sure? Are you eating?”
Now that I know I’m dying, everyone’s concern about my appetite makes more sense. “Will doesn’t allow me to skip a meal.”
“That’s my boy,” Aunt Katrina says.
I nod, glancing at her with new eyes. If she knows about Wilson’s plan or was a part of it, it doesn’t show. “I heard Violet’s stopping by.”
“Oh shoot. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Wilson told me.”
“That boy. He’s probably jealous and trying to sabotage.”
“Jealous?” I peer at her. “Why would he be jealous?”
“Because of your relationship with Violet, of course.”
A sinking feeling envelops me. “Relationship?”
“Technically, you two aren’t together, but everyone knows Violet’s been in love with you since forever. And lately, you’ve been keeping her around so I thought…”
My fingers slip and I scramble to catch the phone. It dances in the air before landing solidly in my palm.
“Kent?” Aunt Katrina’s voice squawks through the speakers.
“Me and Violet?”
“Yes.” Aunt Katrina presses a hand to her chest. “It broke poor Wilson’s heart when she confessed her feelings for you senior year. I wondered for a while there if you two would fight over it.”
My jaw drops. “That’s why Wilson didn’t talk to me for months after.”
“He was just trying to process. It wasn’t because he hated you.” Aunt Katrina pauses. “But you knew this already. Or at least you should. Don’t you re-read your old journals?”
“I didn’t bring them with me.”
“Well, maybe you can catch up when you come back… if you come back…”
Tears well in Aunt Katrina’s eyes and it’s like watching my own mother fall apart. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry.” She swipes the tear with her finger. “I’m just so heartbroken. I wish I could have taken your place that day. I wish I’d been hurt instead of you.”
As I listen to m
y aunt, I realize that there is no way she would ever orchestrate the death of her own sister and husband. She wouldn’t try to kill me either. This is all on Wilson. Every last bit of it.
“Have you talked to your doctor since you got there? He said you need to be careful now that… now that you’re losing your short term memories.”
“I’m being careful. Don’t worry.”
“It’s a mother’s job to worry,” she fires back.
I smile. “Then don’t worry too much. I’m upset when you’re upset.”
She chuckles. “Always the sweet-talker. But I’m guessing you didn’t call just to flatter me.”
“No, I was actually hoping I could get some information.”
Five minutes later, I hang up with Aunt Katrina, armed with the details of Violet’s arrival time.
I glance at the clock. It’s ten a.m. and Aunt Katrina said, barring any unforeseen circumstances, the plane was landing at ten thirty. I have half an hour to make it to the Belize Airport and meet Violet.
I’m curious to test our ‘relationship’ for myself. Aunt Katrina made it sound like Violet and I had some kind of fling, but I know myself enough to say that I would never see Violet that way. In my mind, she’s Wilson’s girl and she always will be.
I grab a cab and promise the driver twenty extra if he gets me to the terminal in less than half an hour. I’m pretty sure he breaks a few traffic laws, and I have to scramble around for the seat belt after a particularly harrowing curve, but we make it to the terminal in time.
I pay him what I owe and hop out, noticing the tourists streaming out of the arrival gate. The humidity presses against me, as if fighting me back. I ignore the heat and stalk toward the sidewalk where a bunch of families are waiting to greet their loved ones.
It doesn’t take long for Violet to emerge. I recognize her immediately. Her raven hair is long and lifts in the breeze. Wispy bangs rest over thin black eyebrows. Her blue eyes are just as striking as ever. She’s wearing a slinky pink shirt and shorts that fit her slim figure.
The moment our gazes connect, a wide grin spreads on her face. She raises her arms and waves, jogging over to me and wheeling a large purple suitcase behind her.
“Kent!” Violet shrieks. A moment later, she’s airborne. A moment after that, she lands on me and wraps her pale arms around my neck.
