Knotted threads! I was that transparent, wasn't I? I pouted. “Snot.”
Which just made her smile grow wider. The two of them were brats! I really liked how Enid was slowly coming out of her shell.
My hip was curiously only dully throbbing, and I wasn't limping anymore, though it was still tender to the touch. A black, purple bruise that was already brown and yellow around the edges. The ointment the EMT gave me was working wonders. I'd have to find more of it. I was always getting scrapes and bruises when I was free climbing.
I froze mid bite. Climbing? I held onto that thread and tugged. I remember bits and pieces of gripping rock with my hands. Swinging my legs up to get a toehold in a crevice. The feel of the adrenaline pumping through my veins like a drug. I was some sort climber! A thrill seeker.
I stood quickly and cleared away my stuff.
Eeen looked up. “You ok, Sloan?”
I nodded and smiled at her. “I got a flash. I'm some sort of rock climber.” I was excited. “So I'm some sort of tech researcher who likes to free climb.”
Her eyes were sparkling with excitement as she added. “And your real name might be Hannah.”
We've learned more about who I really was in the past twenty-four hours than in all the months of investigating. The most exciting part was that it seemed my memory was slowly returning in these fragmented flashes.
Then she stopped, her spoon upside down in her mouth and she cocked her head. I arched an eyebrow at her and then she pointed the spoon at me as she narrowed her eyes, a puzzled expression on her face. “So, should I still be calling you Sloan, or...” Then her expression drooped and her eyes darkened a bit as she said in a dejected tone, “I guess this means you'll be moving out and back to your real life then? Once your memory fully returns?”
I looked at her and cocked my head, giving her a smile.
She shrugged and said, “You're sort of... I've never had.... you're my best friend.”
I stepped over and hugged her shoulders. “And you're mine. I don't know what is going to happen. But regardless, nothing can change the fact that I've made another life here. Nine months can't be erased. We'll just take one day at a time, and see what happens. I may never fully regain everything.”
She said as she stood and moved over to the sink, her appetite apparently lost. “Hannah probably already has a best friend.”
I smirked and prodded, “But she isn't you. I love you and all your neurosis. I got room in my heart for lots of friends, Eeen.”
She smiled and said in a brighter tone, “No mushy stuff. I gotta get to work. You're staying home to recover, right?”
I shrugged. “I'm feeling much better today, it doesn't even hurt. I don’t want to leave the ladies high and dry at the Library.”
She started to open her mouth to complain, but I cut her off with a preemptive, “I'll leave early if it gets bad, and come right home to bed to rest.”
She grinned triumphantly at me, and I had to roll my eyes at how playful the girl could be.
I really wanted her to be happy, so I added, “And you have to ask Adam out today. Suck up all your courage and take a chance.”
She blushed, and I gave her a stern look. She exhaled and muttered, “Fine. Pushy much?” But she was smiling. I thought she just might do it this time. I was glad, she deserved to be happy.
Then we went about gathering our things and heading out to work.
On my walk downtown, I mused that Enid and I needed a car. It was something I had been putting off talking with her about, since after looking into it, I'd have to take the tests again. And though I was sure I could drive, I wasn't sure if I'd remember how and I didn't look forward to learning if I couldn't.
My mind drifted on that a bit as I walked. If I were the adrenaline junky I had gleaned from my fractured memory, then I'd likely own something like a little sports car, or a motorcycle at the very least.
I mean, the feel of the air whipping through your hair, the exhilarating freedom as you rocket down the road with your girl's arms wrapped around your waist, laying her head on your back... I staggered then blanched. Not at the fact that I apparently did own a bike, but that I had a girlfriend?
Why hadn't she come looking for me after all this time? Filed a missing person's report or something. Or had we broken up sometime after that fractured glimpse into my past?
It seemed I had more and more questions with each answer. I picked up my pace as I pulled out my cell. I absently tapped on Andreya in my contacts. She answered on the first ring, “Sloan? Is everything ok?”
I smiled at the concern in her tone as I absently nodded into thin air. “Yes, I'm fine. I've been remembering things. Little snapshots in time. Apparently, I was a free climber in my free time and owned a motorcycle.” I didn't mention the girlfriend. I had no clue if it was even a thing now.
She was silent for a long few seconds, and I pulled my cell from my ear and looked at it to make sure we hadn't been disconnected. I put it back to my ear as she said, “I need to meet you. Something strange is going on here, and we need to sort it out quickly. Not to mention that both Homeland Security and some unnamed government entity have both contacted my department about the thread.”
Huh?
She prompted, “You home?”
I shook my head again, aware of how silly that was. She can't see you, Sloan, if only Atropos could see, she'd chide me for being nonsensical and tell me to keep my eye on the weave. I hesitated, just who was Atropos?
I snapped out of it at Andreya's prompt, “Sloan?”
I shook my head to clear it and replied, “No, I'm almost to the library now.”
She made an exasperated sound and whispered harshly, “You were just shot yesterday, you need to rest.”
I smiled at the concern in her tone and assured her, “I'm fine. And I'm not lazy. I don't need to convalesce, and the ladies need me at work.”
She actually growled at me, and that made my grin spread father as she said, “Fine. Be there in ten.” Then she hung up.
I was feeling quite pleased with myself that I had managed to ruffle her feathers.
But then my mood was dampened by what she said. Government agencies were asking about my thread? Had I worked in a government lab somewhere? It was a sobering question that, if I did, was what I working on going to be used for weapons? That made me a little sick to my stomach. If that were true, then I didn't know if I wanted to remember who I was before, as she didn't have the same moral compass that I'd like to think I had.
I hissed as both my wrists started to burn as the ink rearranged itself chaotically beneath my skin, like a warning being sounded. I caught myself looking around frantically, something was close by, watching me. Hunting. I was sure of it, in the way I was sure Mrs. Ramos was seventy-two, and that it wasn't Mr. Jerganson's time.
I thought I saw shadows slipping between buildings, up on the roofs, reflected in windows. I had to calm myself down. Nobody else on the street seemed to notice anything. Stitch and nap, I was just seeing things brought on by my panic. I drew in two deep breaths, centering and calming myself, as I again doubled my pace the last block to the library.
I paused when I saw Mrs. Ramos staring down at me then at the building across the street. I followed her gaze and thought I saw the shadow of the building in the alley move. When I looked back up, she was gone.
I ran into the old library, and it was like a huge crushing pressure was removed from my head, and I could think clearly now, knowing I was safe here. It had just been some sort of panic attack, just great, a new development in my life. I exhaled then took in a deep breath and looked around. I was a few minutes late, and there were already patrons perusing the books on the lower level, Julie was assisting a man.
I looked up the stairs to see Mrs. Ramos standing there looking down at me. I felt sheepish at how silly I had just been and gave her a little wave. She smiled down at me in that matronly way she had about her then I went upstairs to start working.
Mrs. Ramos smiled at me when I got to the top. “Are you ok, dear?”
I smiled at her, reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “I'm fine.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “I watch the news. You were hurt in that robbery, where that poor boy died. The witnesses said you were shot, but the police said differently.”
I exhaled, she was always like this, even when I'd accidentally cut myself on a thread at the loom.
Wow, where did that come from?
I shook my head. “No really, I'm fine. Just got a little bruised up when the gunman ran into me. Let's get to work shall we?”
She looked at me, one eyebrow cocked in suspicion as I headed to my favorite spot to do the book returns. To change the topic, I chirped out as she started to head to her office, “I've remembered some things.”
This got her to stop mid-stride and turn back. A hopeful and expectant look on her face.
I shared with her what little I have flashed upon except the memories of the nightmare. “I remember climbing trees and my mother scolding me. Free climbing in the mountains, and riding a motorcycle with my... with someone I loved.”
She oddly didn't look too surprised, even though she was genuinely excited. Then she prompted, “There was nothing else? Just climbing trees and rocks, and riding a motorcycle?”
The expectant tone struck a chord with me again. I felt like I was caught again, how did she always know when I wasn't telling her everything? It had been eons since I was a little girl, I sputtered in frustration, “Frayed ends, Atta. I'm not a little girl anymore, that tone doesn't work with me now.”
I went to work, obstinately ignoring her, trying not to smile. I had scanned in three books, snapping the covers closed soundly to punctuate my point, but she didn't leave. After a long silence from her, she asked carefully, “What did you call me just now? Atta?”
I hesitated with the scanner, furrowed my brow as I tried to recall, then asked, “Mrs. Ramos?”
I looked back at her, and she had a wistful smile joining that hopeful look from earlier as she shook her head and said, “No, you called me Atta. Do you know why?”
I exhaled. I hadn't had I? I thought of how I thought she reminded me of someone called Atropos, earlier. It must have been that was still in my head, and I just voiced it without thinking. I shook my head at her, “No... I've just had odd dreams lately. A name keeps coming to mind whenever I talk to you. Just weird fragments that make no sense yet, but I remember more and more.”
She looked like someone dying to blurt something out, but she restrained herself. She huffed out a breath and opened her mouth but stopped as we heard footsteps briskly approaching. I looked past Mrs. Ramos and couldn't stop my smile when I saw none other than Detective Andreya Lisbon striding purposefully up to us, a grim look of determination on her face.
As usual, she was wearing a sharply contrasting outfit that hovered neatly between casual and professional. Today it was a crisp white blouse, with her shoulder holster in plain view, and some nice hip hugger jeans. She finished her look with the shit kicking combat boots she preferred. The shine of her badge brought my attention to the slight sway of her hips as she approached. She could arrest me anytime... I mean... oh whatever.
Before I could greet her, she looked warily at the head librarian then me. She gave an acknowledging nod to Mrs. Ramos and turned to me. “Is there someplace we can talk... privately?”
The elderly librarian looked at the two of us then her office, “You can use my office. I have to walk the stacks anyway. A place for everything and everything in its place.”
I had to smile as I shook my head. “You really love this library.”
She winked and moved off toward the shelves, “It's all in the weave.”
I nodded and chuckled, “Isn't it just?”
Then I started toward the office and nudged my head toward it. Andreya was cocking her head at the elderly woman as she left. I tilted my head the other way as I asked, “What is it?”
She shook her head and grinned as she stepped past me to hold the door of the office open for me. “You're infecting everyone around you,aren't you?”
I was going to ask what she was babbling about when I realized what it was what Mrs. Ramos had said and how easily I answered. It just felt natural like we had said it a million times. I shrugged and grinned, “You're next. See? I told you other people said it.”
She shut the door and left her hand on the doorknob for a moment as she countered, “No... they don't.”
Then she motioned for me to take a seat at the desk, I did, taking a moment to run my hands along the arms of the inappropriately comfortable old leather chair as she sat a hip on the corner of the desk. I could get used to this. Maybe one day.
Then I jumped a little when an old Seattle Post-Intelligencer newspaper landed in front of me. The date at the top was from twenty-seven years ago. I blinked at it. I knew from working in the library that the newspaper didn't exist anymore in its current incarnation as an online news source only. I only knew that because it had come as a surprise to me when I first learned of it. I could have sworn I had read a PI recently, but I didn't know how I knew that, it was just a vague impression.
I looked at the headline, touting a new ferry boat, the Wenatchee. The article was on her maiden voyage and trial runs on Puget Sound. I remember that. They were expanding and replacing the aging ferry boat fleet. I smiled when I realized I actually did remember that. Then I scowled at the headline and looked up in confusion to see Drey in detective mode, studying me intently. So intently it was making me nervous.
I asked with a little concern in my voice, “What?”
She said, “Tell me again, every memory you've had to date.”
I did, including the odd impressions I've been getting about Mrs. Ramos. Lisbon prompted, “You're sure you remember being a rock climber?”
I hesitated and then said carefully as I nodded slowly, “I remember the feel of the adrenaline, my fingers gripping the cliff face. Yes.”
She shook her head slowly and said in an odd tone, “You better not be messing with me here. I'm already trying to find a logical explanation for this.”
I was about to ask when she reached out and turned the newspaper over.
I stared at the article at the bottom of the page. It took me a full ten seconds to move my eyes from the picture to the headline. The photo had shaken me to the bone. The headline read, “Local Competitive Climber, Hannah Graham, Dead in Freak Climbing Accident.” My head was spinning as my eyes went back to the photograph of me. There was no mistaking it. The photo could have been taken this morning, except my hair was longer now. But this paper was twenty-seven years old.
I pushed up, stumbling out of the chair, knocking it over as I backed to the window, pressing my back to it as I stared at the newspaper. I looked pleadingly up at Andreaya and asked, like she could explain, “Drey?”
Her hard look softened then she stepped up to me and hugged me to her. I stared at the paper over her shoulder as she hushed me, “It's ok, Sloan. I had to give it to you cold. You really didn't know.”
I pushed away a little and looked at her incredulously as I slapped her chest. “You wanted to see how I reacted. That was just... I don't know... cruel?”
She stepped away, and I was missing the comfort of her holding me and the intense heat of her body pressed against mine. Then she picked up the newspaper and shook her head slowly as she said while staring at the picture. “I was trying to figure out what angle you were playing once I found this. But nothing made sense. If you're Hannah, then you haven't aged a day since this photo.”
She tipped the chair back up onto its wheels and motioning for me to sit. My legs were rubbery and shaky, so I did as she continued, “Insurance fraud? Some sort of con on the family? None of that made sense, nor did it explain how you were found, and that cloth or that responsive ink on your skin.”
She explained as I stared dumbly at her. “What con would work? You couldn't
even say you were Hannah's long lost daughter. You can't be any older than twenty-four, or five at the most. How could she have a daughter two years after she died?”
She ended with, “You may look exactly like her, but you can't be Hannah Graham.” Then she narrowed her eyes and repeated, “You can't be her.” She was leaning in studying my face so intently I felt self-conscious and hugged my arms to myself as I pulled away.
She shook her head and muttered to herself, “No signs of plastic surgery... the doctors would have noted that. Again, there would be no logical reason to make yourself look like her.”
Then she turned her eyes back to mine and shared, “When I punched in the things you remember, every bell and whistle went off. I found this immediately, and the death certificate. I would have found it all sooner if I had been looking for a deceased person. I was only searching databases of living people.”
I was still at a loss to understand what was going on. I had no words, it was like a mute button had been pressed somewhere inside me as she just kept talking about the impossible. “Everything you said matched. I'm all about facts and provable things, but I can't explain this at all. The only thing I know for sure is that you are not Hannah Graham.”
That last statement was like a slap to my face, and her words echoed in my head as I was bombarded by a thousand memories. I was too Hannah! I didn't remember everything, but I remembered enough. I loved to climb. I had done it since I was a kid. Rock climbing was the ultimate expression of freedom and let me know I was alive.
I remembered climbing Sloan Peak, it was an exhilarating free climb. I had just pulled myself up by my fingertips from an overhang, after just hanging there, my feet dangling and enjoying the feeling of control I had, and the strength of my hands.
I had looked up to see Lily in front of me. I loved her as much as I loved the loom. Some rubble from above her came clacking down the cliff, loosened by a mountain goat most likely. Her foot slipped when the pebbles hit her, taking her by surprise.
Fate: No Strings Attached Page 4
