The Forgotten

by Bishop O'Connell

  “Okay,” Caitlin said and gave him a hug, her face not even reaching his chest.

  Dante smiled, hugged her back, and kissed the top of her head.

  “You didn’t strain your back reaching all the way down here, did you?” she asked.

  “Maybe a little.”

  She stepped back and smiled at him, but it softened. “It can wait?”

  “It can.”

  “Okay,” Caitlin said. “See you in Boston.” She stood, turned, and left the room.

  “Lost?”

  Wraith jumped and turned to find Brigid standing in the hallway. Even just standing there, she was elegant and beautiful, but carried an air of strength that Wraith found inspiring.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Brigid said.

  “Are all elves as quiet as you?” Wraith asked.

  “Pretty much,” Brigid said with a smile. “So, need some help navigating this place?”

  In point of fact, Wraith had been wandering hallways for the better part of fifteen minutes now. She knew without a doubt she’d gone down the same path at least four times, but she couldn’t figure out how that happened. All around her the information of the place was in constant flux, shifting and changing.

  “Um, yes,” Wraith said.

  Brigid smiled and Wraith felt at ease.

  “Come with me, dear.”

  Wraith followed, and they made a ­couple of turns Wraith was sure weren’t there before. Her confusion must’ve shown on her face.

  “You’re not imagining it,” Brigid said. “The layout of the house changes.”

  Wraith blinked. “It what?”

  “It changes,” Brigid said. “This house was originally a convent in Ireland. I had it brought over stone by stone.”

  Wraith thought she almost looked wistful.

  “It was built for the nuns by the magi,” Brigid said. “They were a collection of wizards. Part of the protection they built into this place is that the layout changes around you, unless you live here of course.”

  Wraith looked around, and now she could see the quantum information wasn’t really changing. Rather, it was splitting apart and joining other pieces to form new formulae. It was, well, brilliant! The wizards who—­

  “Wait, did you say wizards?” Wraith said, having stopped dead in her tracks.

  Brigid turned and nodded.

  “Where are they now?” Wraith asked. “I mean, are the wizards still around?”

  Brigid’s smile faded. “Sadly, no. I’m afraid they were decimated centuries ago. A few survived and took refuge with the Dawn Court while the Taleth-­Sidhe went to face the Order.”

  “Seanán?” Wraith asked.

  Brigid smiled. “Exactly right.”

  “He won, right?” Wraith asked.

  Brigid smiled, but not much. “Eventually. But that’s a story for another time.” Brigid resumed walking and Wraith followed.

  “What happened to the survivors?” Wraith asked.

  Brigid laughed. “I said, it was for another time.”

  Wraith let out a sigh.

  “I’ll tell you that there was one. After the fighting was done, he fell in love, got married, and had children,” Brigid said. “His son wasn’t born with the touch of the craft. However, his son’s son was.”

  “Where is he?” Wraith asked.

  Brigid smiled. “Planning a wedding, and taking care of a very special little girl.”

  Wraith furrowed her brow and was about to ask another question, but figured she’d pushed enough. So instead she just said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Brigid said.

  They walked in silence after that, and Wraith was glad when they came to some stairs. At least it was progress. But that led to more hallways. Finally, they rounded a corner and came to a pair of large oaken doors. Brigid opened them into a large room. Okay, it was a huge room. Two walls were floor-­to-­ceiling windows, and it let in the morning sunlight. There were several chairs around a fireplace, and even more scattered throughout the room, along with six sofas that looked like they should’ve been in a museum.

  “He’s waiting for you,” Brigid said and nodded to one of the chairs.

  Even from behind, Wraith recognized Dante.

  “Thanks, again,” Wraith said.

  “Can I ask what you plan to do?” Brigid asked.

  “Keep some promises,” Wraith said. “I also want to make sure no more kids get taken. The Order is still out there. We might’ve hurt them, but they’re not done for. I’m going to correct that.”

  Brigid smiled. “Good for you.” She handed Wraith a card.

  “What’s this?” Wraith asked, looking it over. On it was an address and a phone number.

  “If you plan to stay in the area, I hope you’ll come to me if you need anything,” Brigid said. “Food, clothes, money, advice, or just a safe place to sleep.”

  Wraith narrowed her eyes. “Not to sound ungrateful—­”

  “But why?” Brigid asked.

  Wraith nodded.

  “Whatsoever you do for one of the least of these, you did for me,” Brigid said.

  Wraith blinked and opened her mouth, then closed it. After a moment, her brain began working. “A Chris­tian elf?”

  Brigid smiled. “Let’s just say, there is truth everywhere if you look for it. I offer you my help because you might need it, and I have it give.”

  Wraith handed the card back.

  Brigid’s smile faded.

  “I don’t need the card,” Wraith said and tapped her head. “I’ve got it here.”

  Brigid’s smile returned. “I do hope to see you again Jane Essex, Wraith, rememberer of the forgotten.”

  Wraith smiled at the moniker. “You will, I promise.”

  “Good,” Brigid said, then kissed each of Wraith’s cheeks. “Until then.”

  As she turned and left, Wraith thought of all those forgotten kids. Maybe that would be a good starting place to look for the allies her parents told her to find.

  Wraith turned and stepped further into the room, looking around. She’d never seen anything like it before. It was beautiful, but it made her afraid to touch anything.

  Dante stood and smiled at her, but there was the ghost of something else behind it. She couldn’t help but feel as if she was intruding on something very private.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, offering her a chair.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she sat, carefully, and shrugged. “Clean, and not hungry.”

  Dante sat across from her, chuckled and smiled. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  Wraith nodded. “Different, but better, I think. I don’t know. I feel numb inside, like the pain and grief in my heart is too much to feel.” She let out a sigh and felt a twinge in her heart. “I miss my friends. But I’m remembering things, and I don’t feel like I’m going to explode. So that’s something, I guess.”

  Dante nodded and somehow she knew he could relate, at least to the pain. He wore a mask of confidence and surety. Actually, it was probably sincere, but she could see in his eyes that he’d known pain that could compare to her own. Living as long as he had, it could probably dwarf hers.

  Guilt and regret began seeping into her from her broken heart and the next words were out of her mouth before she could think to stop them. “I broke my promises to them. I failed them, my friends, and all those other kids. I should’ve been able to save them, but I couldn’t.”

  “No, child, you didn’t fail anyone,” Dante said. “Believe me, I understand. It’s a hard thing to break promises to your friends.” He drew in a slow breath and shook his head. “But sometimes it can’t be helped. Of course, that doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”

  Wraith shook her head. “No, it really doesn’t.”

&
nbsp; “Are you okay?” Dante asked.

  Wraith shrugged. “Not really, but—­”

  “I’m sorry,” Dante said. “It was a stupid question.”

  “I think I should go,” she said.

  Dante looked at her. “Right now?”

  Wraith stood. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  Dante stood as well. “Don’t apologize. Before you go, the others would like to talk to you.”

  “Geek, Con, and Sprout?” Wraith asked.

  Dante nodded.

  Wraith considered saying no, but the thought of seeing Sprout won out.

  “Okay.”

  Dante led her out of the room and back into the maddening hallways. Thankfully, it was only a ­couple of turns before they came to a set of French doors that opened onto the backyard. Actually, it was more like a small forest walled in by hedgerows. They stepped outside, and she marveled at the colors. The green of the grass and leaves on the trees were vivid. Likewise, the wildflowers were almost bursting with color, and so fragrant she could smell them from where she stood. It was all completely wild, and utterly beautiful because of it. Something inside her sang at the intricate formulae that made up the trees and all the life around her. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Somewhere in her heart, Shadow was smiling. And somewhere, SK was saying he was hungry and Fritz was elbowing him in the ribs. She smiled and laughed, but just a little.

  “This way,” Dante said.

  Wraith opened her eyes and followed him around the house. The old gray stones that made it told Wraith that Brigid hadn’t been exaggerating about the age of it. She was so lost in studying the house that she didn’t notice Dante had stopped walking. She bumped into him, though he didn’t budge. She opened her mouth to apologize, but her words froze in her throat.

  A large marble rotunda that could’ve come from ancient Rome stood in the distance. Inside was a table where Con, Geek, and Sprout sat playing a board game and laughing. Con’s arm was in a cast, Sprout had a bandage on her forehead, but they were smiling. Wraith’s heart ached as she looked on, but the image of Ovation’s death made her turn away.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Wraith said. “How can I tell them about Ovation?”

  “They don’t remember anything, including him,” Dante said.

  Wraith looked at him. “What?”

  Dante shook his head, still looking at the trio. “They don’t remember anything from the last month or so. Neither Brigid nor I can find any physical explanation.”

  “You’re saying someone messed with their heads?” Wraith asked. “But why?”

  “I don’t know,” Dante said. “There’s a lot that’s happened I can’t explain, but I’m going to find out.”

  Wraith felt sadness burst from her heart, and her knees nearly gave way as a sob overtook her.

  Dante caught her and drew her close, holding her up. “What is it?”

  “I’m the only one who will remember him,” she said. “And it’s all my fault. All of it.”

  Dante turned and looked at her, lifting her chin. “It wasn’t you, it was the Order,” he said. “They did this. They are to blame, not you.”

  “But if it weren’t for me—­”

  “Then it would’ve been someone else,” Dante said. “This is not your fault, Wraith. Don’t you dare take any of the blame that rightfully belongs to them. Not one bit. Do you hear me?”

  Wraith nodded and in that moment, she knew with rare clarity exactly what she was going to do and how she would do it. “You’re going to help the fifties, right? All of them I mean.”

  Dante shifted, clearly surprised by the question. “Those who want it, of course. Some of those we saved decided to stay here. Others preferred being on their own, but they’ll never be turned away again if they come looking for help. I’m making sure no one ever is again.”

  Wraith nodded, then looked at the three she still considered her friends but to whom she was now a stranger. “I want to talk to them.”

  Before Dante could answer, Wraith began walking to the rotunda. She was tired of feeling weak and afraid too. She didn’t feel that way now. She felt strong, and in control of her own destiny.

  Dante was quick to catch up to her, and when they neared the rotunda, Con turned and spotted them. Soon Geek and Sprout noticed him looking and they turned as well.

  “Con,” Dante said and nodded at the Candy Land game on the table. “Who’s winning?”

  “I am!” Sprout said and smiled brightly.

  “As usual,” Geek said with a smile.

  Con looked from Wraith to Dante. “Is this her, then?” His accent was still there, but it was softer somehow, less theatrical, more natural sounding.

  “This is Wraith,” Dante said.

  Geek eyed her. “You do seem familiar.” He narrowed his eyes, clearly digging for the source of the familiarity.

  Wraith felt sympathetic pains for him, especially when he came up with nothing and shook his head in defeat.

  “I explained the situation to them,” Dante said. “I thought they deserved to know.”

  “Too right. We did, mate,” Con said and shook his head. “Can’t say I much like the idea of having a great heap of my memories go missing.”

  Wraith nodded. “I can relate.”

  “Thank you,” Geek said and offered his hand, “for helping them, and for saving me.”

  Wraith turned to him, took his hand, and shook it. “You don’t have to thank me. In fact,” she reached into her bag and pulled out the Dr. Strange shirt, neatly folded. “I’m pretty sure this is yours.”

  Geek smiled and shook his head. “No, it was. It’s yours now. I want you to have it. I don’t really have much, but it was my favorite.” He smiled more, and it was the same smile he’d had when he’d compared her to Nightcrawler. “From what I hear, it suits you.”

  Wraith smiled despite herself, and was going to insist he take it back. But when she looked at Geek, she could see it would be pointless to argue. Instead, she tucked the shirt back into her bag.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I love it.”

  Before Wraith could react, Sprout had climbed over Con, threw her arms around Wraith’s neck, and hugged her tight.

  “Thank you for saving me and my big brother and our friend,” Sprout said.

  Wraith glanced at Geek, who just chuckled and shook his head.

  “Would you like to be my big sister?” Sprout asked.

  Tears threatened to break loose, so Wraith hugged the little girl back, stroking her hair and saying softly, “I’d like that very much.”

  After a long moment, Sprout let go and smiled at Wraith. “I always wanted a big sister.”

  Wraith mussed her hair. “And I always wanted a little sister, so it works out.” She turned to Con. “How would you like a chance to make sure nothing like this ever happens again, to anyone?”

  “Whatever it is, love, I’m in,” Con said with a fierce smile on his face.

  “Me too,” said Geek.

  Dante looked at her expectantly.

  “You’re less likely to kick a pup if it has teeth,” she said.

  “Brilliant, let’s do it!” Con said.

  Wraith nodded at his cast. “Soon. You need to heal. All of you.” She turned to Dante. “I have some things to take care of. Can—­?”

  “I don’t think Brigid would let them leave before giving them a clean bill of health,” Dante said.

  “She’s really nice,” Sprout said.

  Wraith kissed the little girl’s cheek. “She sure is.”

  Sprout beamed, then looked at Wraith. “What do you have to do?”

  Wraith glanced at Dante. “I have some promises to keep,” she said. “And one to break,” she told to herself.

  “Do you nee
d a ride somewhere?” Dante asked.

  Wraith shook her head. “No, I just need a door.”

  Wraith stared at the closed door and frame around it. Focusing, she began building the equation in her head. As it wove together in her head, matching numbers and symbols drifted into place. Reaching into the darkness of her mind, back into the church, she careful pulled together the memories she had. It wasn’t about an address; it was about connection. It was the sounds she remembered first: the hum of car tires on the street outside, the rustling of the leaves on the big tree outside her bedroom window, the birds singing. As she reached deeper, more memories began to surface. She could hear the sound of her parents talking, the creaks and sounds of a lived-­in house.

  Then came the smells; her mother’s perfume first, and it carried her deeper. Soon she could smell oil, gasoline, and metal—­the garage. That scent faded and she smelled, well, nothing. A brief panic ran through her, but she kept her focus. Then she realized there was a smell, and it was just so familiar, it hid perfectly in the background. It was the background. All the smells and sounds blended together forming a near whole. Before long, she could feel the soft carpet on her bare feet, and sinking into the plush couch wrapped in her favorite blanket. When the scents and sounds had built an image so vivid she could see it, she opened her eyes, reached out, and touched the doorknob. The moment her fingers touched the cool metal, the last of the numbers drifted into place and probability became a certainty.

  She held her breath, opened the door and stepped through.

  Sadness crashed over her like a rogue wave, and a held breath came out in a shuddering sob.

  Chapter Thirty-­Eight

  She stood in the entryway of what she knew was her house, had been her home. It wasn’t even an empty shell now; there were empty beer cans and cheap liquor bottles all over the filthy carpet. Holes were burned where cigarette butts had been dropped and had smoldered. She turned slowly, looking around as a child’s desire to come home began quietly dying. The walls had been torn open so the copper wiring could be stolen. The hollowing grief turned to burning anger as she looked over the graffiti on the walls. She wasn’t angry with the kids and homeless that had used the house as shelter, she was angry at herself. Memories of squatting in abandoned homes churned through her head. Those had once been someone else’s home, and she’d shown no more respect for it than anyone did this place. Karma was a master of poetic justice.