Unspoken Memories (Unspoken Series)

by Gabbie S. Duran

  I wait a couple of minutes, but I don’t get one right away, so I figure I should try another number. It's to a private investigator that my doctor recommended.

  When I asked her to recommend one, she didn't ask why, but I have a feeling she knew why I would want one. The guy answers right away and after explaining that I need his services, we set up an appointment to meet within half an hour at the coffee shop down the street. Ending the phone call, I grab a banana from the counter and eat it on the way back to the master bedroom.

  Knowing that I can’t go out looking like myself without being recognized, I head straight into Bill’s closet in hopes of finding something that will work. I immediately spot an old Harvard hoodie and grab it, along with a Mariner’s baseball cap that has seen better days. I throw the hoodie on and place the cap on top of my head, tucking my long hair into the inside back of the hoodie, and pulling the hoodie lid on over it. Once I’m happy with my disguise, I head out of the building.

  “SO YOU EXPECT me to find out exactly who you are?”

  The private investigator ends up being an older gentleman, in his late forties. He looks more like he should be working in a library, with his wool suit that’s probably seen better days, and his gray hair, than working as a PI. Nevertheless, according to the doc, he's the best, and at this point I need the best.

  His name is Frank and he’s been in this business for over twenty-five years.

  “Yes. I mean I know what my name is, and I know what I do. That's easy stuff I could get from Google. However, I need to know all the private stuff, like bank account info, and what the hell happened to my life?”

  His lips go flat like he's considering whether I'm pulling his leg or have lost my mind. He takes a sip of his coffee and he stares at me. He's analyzing me, I can tell. So I sit there, drinking my coffee as well and wait for him to give me an answer.

  Frank finally replies, “Okay, I'll do it, but it's going to cost you.”

  “Price doesn't matter, according to Google I'm loaded, so I'm pretty sure I can afford it.”

  This intrigues him and he slits his eyes, once again analyzing me.

  “What I don't understand is why you don't ask this hot-shot boyfriend of yours?”

  “I don't trust him. I have a feeling he's hiding something from me and since I've conveniently lost my memory I have to go with my gut feeling,” I say, shrugging my shoulder.

  Frank nods his head once and takes another sip of his coffee.

  “I have another request.” I pull out the piece of paper that I’ve kept hidden in my pocket. “I have a number in my head that I keep repeating and it's not matching any of my contacts in my phone, I want all the info for the owner.” I hand him the piece of paper so he can study it.

  “Well, you don't want much do you?” he says sarcastically. “But it won't be hard.”

  “Good, how fast can I expect the info? At the rate you’re charging me, I should expect something within a couple of days, right?”

  The starting rate Frank quoted me in the beginning of our conversation could support a family of four for at least a year. You would think that he’d use some of it to fund his wardrobe. It’s a shame he’s a man, or I could give him most of mine. I'm desperate at this point, so I would gladly hand over half of my income if he were to request it.

  Okay, maybe not that much, but almost as much.

  “I should have the info on the number within twenty-four hours, the rest of the requested information within seventy-two. Being that you’re a celebrity your info might be tighter to get into.”

  This doesn't sound good and he sees my apprehension. “I said ‘tighter’ not impossible. Nothing’s impossible for me.”

  As we've been having this conversation I’ve been setting up a private email address for myself. The phone I have already has one entered in it, but I don't trust him sending any information to this address in case Bill has access to it, which I’m sure he does. I give Frank my contact information and we depart.

  As I'm walking back into my apartment building and towards the elevator, I realize that I don't have one of those card thingies to get back up into my apartment, so I have to do some major sweet talking with the doorman to walk me up. He promises to have a new card for me to pick up tomorrow.

  On the way up to my apartment, I’m checking my phone to see if I’ve received a response from the number that I texted earlier. Realizing that I haven’t, I automatically feel disappointed. The phone distracts me as I walk off the elevator at my floor, so I walk right into Bill.

  I look up into his face, and he looks pissed as he says, “Where the hell have you been?”

  Walking around him I head into the living room. “I went out; I needed to get some air,” I say as I start to take off the hoodie and baseball cap and throw it onto the couch.

  He sees what I’ve been wearing and he’s astonished. I bet he didn’t think I was smart enough to disguise myself with his clothing before going out.

  “You’re not supposed to leave the building without security, it isn't safe. I told you to stay here, you could have been mobbed,” Bill says in a very condescending tone.

  I roll my eyes at him, really, a mob? He’s just pissed I didn’t stay home like the dumbass little girl that he thinks I am at this moment.

  “I wasn't mobbed and I really doubt anyone recognized me, since I don't look like her when I'm wearing a hoodie,” I say, pointing to the exotic looking picture of me on the wall above the fireplace, as I sit in one of the uncomfortable armchairs in the room.

  Looking at the picture, I wonder, where are my clothes and why the hell am I naked and showing my ass off to everyone that's walks into my living room?

  That is going to be one of the first ones to come down.

  With the look he’s giving me I know he’s about to start ripping me one, so I quickly stand up. “If you’re done lecturing me, I'm going to bed, I'm really tired. Goodnight,” I say, clipping off what he was about to say.

  My response takes him by total surprise because his eyes go wide and his mouth opens in an O.

  I brush past him, moving my legs as fast as they can walk to one of the guest rooms I’ve chosen for myself, locking the door behind me. I walk over to the bed. Taking off my clothes on the way, I climb into bed, and under the covers. I lay there on my side, staring out the window at the twinkling lights of Seattle. My body feels so exhausted from frustration, and eventually sleep begins to overtake me.

  I’m running outside, along what looks to be a trail made of dirt. There are trees everywhere along the course that I am running. I am surrounded by Mother Nature.

  The season must be changing to fall or winter because there’s a beautiful orange mixed with yellow taking over the leaves of the trees. The air is crisp, with a bit of a chill in the air, and it’s taking me to another world completely. One I want to stay in.

  My body is relaxed as I focus on every breath. I inhale the aromas that Mother Nature is throwing at me. The sound of the wind as I glide through it, mixed in with the birds singing to each other, adds to my footsteps every time they make contact with the ground below me. The pounding of my feet hitting the pavement with every step I take forward, striking them with the vibration of the contact. The swinging of my arms back and forth is matching the tempo of my legs as they stride, one in front of the other. The farther and faster I run, the better my body feels. As if I'm releasing the toxins I've been holding inside my body. Forcing myself to let them go.

  Even though my breathing is beginning to feel labored, the distance I'm putting behind me is making me happier and happier with each step forward I take. I feel like I want to do this forever, but I’m quickly pulled away from running when I begin to hear ringing in my dream. The sound pulls me from my nirvana, irritating me. The sound stops, then starts up again.

  I slowly wake up and realize it's my phone ringing on the nightstand. Who in their right mind would call me this early? Okay, it’s not that early, since I see the sun shinin
g through the windows of the room.

  Groggy eyed, I grab the phone and mentally curse it, noticing that the number says “Private.” I'm skeptical about answering, but then I remember that Frank has promised to contact me today. If this isn’t him, I might just cuss whoever it is on the other end for ruining my perfect dream.

  “Hello,” I say, still groggy and out of it, as I answer the phone.

  “Hey Abigail, it's Frank.” Okay, he’s safe. “I emailed the info on that number you wanted.”

  This wakes me up in a heartbeat. I sit straight up and get excited. He promises to keep me updated with the rest of info that I need and ends the call. At this point I don't care about the info I need about me, I want to know more about this number.

  I open the email, it's not a huge document, but it has enough information to keep me happy. Including an address and personal info for the owner of the number. As I open the document, I notice the picture that Frank has provided and it’s the same guy from my dream. My breath catches, as my heart starts beating rapidly.

  I throw back the covers, hop out of bed and get dressed in the clothes I threw off last night. Walking over to the bedroom door, I open it slowly. After making sure the apartment is quiet, I step out, and according to the time on my phone it's 8:42 a.m.

  Okay it’s more late than early at this point.

  The apartment seems pretty empty of Bill since it’s silent, so I head to the bathroom and take a quick shower.

  After showering, I brush out my hair and put on some light make-up. One thing that I’ve discovered, and I’m very thankful for, is that I don't need much make-up. My face has a natural beauty to it, and I’m taking full advantage of that today.

  I head into my closet, standing there confused and feeling overwhelmed. I pick what looks like simple skinny jeans and a beige cashmere sweater, next comes the shoes, for some reason this is where I feel like I want to start salivating with admiration. I can't find a pair of flats or tennis shoes for the life of me, so I grab a pair of black Prada pumps and put them on.

  After taking a quick look in the mirror to make sure my outfit looks good, I’m satisfied with myself and I'm ready to go.

  As I was getting ready I multi-tasked and called for a hired car. By the time I get downstairs it is waiting for me. I pick up my new key for my apartment at the front desk, and head out of the building, on my way to Portland.

  ON THE CAR ride to Portland, I take the time to go over the information the private investigator gave me.

  The guy’s name is Matthew Garcia. He was born and raised in Riverside, CA. His parents died when he was only seven, leaving him to be raised by his sister, a sister who had passed away as well about six months ago with her husband in a car accident. He’s currently in his senior year at a private college in Portland, with the assistance of a full ride football scholarship. Instead of living on campus like normal students, he had his own residence off campus, a house. His sister purchased it for him before his sophomore year, and he currently lives with a roommate, another player on the football team.

  As we get closer to the city, I give the driver the address and he enters it into his navigation system. At this point I start to get more and more nervous because I have no idea what to expect. My palms are getting sweaty, my stomach is in knots, and my knee starts twitching again. I’ve noticed it’s been doing that a lot lately when I’m anxious or nervous. I still haven’t figured out how to make it stop.

  We pull up to the house and the driver parks next to the curb in front. The first thing I notice is that it looks like a normal family sized house. I was expecting it to look like a frat house being that they’re college kids, but it looks really taken care of.

  As the driver opens my door I notify him that I have no idea how long I might be, but to stay close just in case. He nods and informs me he'll be waiting in the car.

  As I'm walking up the driveway, there are two cars. One is a Jeep, but what catches my eye is a beautiful, black, classic Dodge Charger. Its glossy paint makes it shine in the sunlight. I think that it is one sexy car.

  I walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. My stomach is turning from the nerves and I feel like I’m ready to throw up.

  At first, there isn't an answer, so I ring it again. After a minute I start to feel impatient with still no answer, so I start to knock hard on the door.

  I finally hear a voice yelling from inside, “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses man. I'm coming!”

  The door opens and the first thing that hits me is the smell. Whoever's in there is spending some major time with someone named Mary Jane. I’m almost high just with the first whiff I take.

  I’m disappointed when I notice who has answered the door. It’s not who I was expecting, which saddens me. It isn’t the guy in the picture that Frank sent me, which must mean this must be the roommate, or a friend. He has some running shorts on and a tight white shirt, which stretches over his broad shoulders and muscles.

  This guy is huge. He has bulging arms that look like they might be wider than my legs, and probably are. He’s a bit shorter than I am but I’m wearing heels after all. By the looks of this guy he must spend some major time in the gym with the weights. His hair is cut really short all over and he's staring at me like he's trying really hard to figure out who I am. Then he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it.

  “Is Matthew Garcia here?” I nervously ask.

  I'm pretty sure from the smells I'm getting from inside that he is stoned out of his mind.

  He is still staring at me, with bugged eyes and his mouth slightly open. Finally a light bulb must have turned on in his head because he finally speaks.

  “Dude, you’re Abigail fucking Adams.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I’m Mother Teresa, I’ve come to save your soul. Again, is Matthew Garcia here?”

  I'm afraid by the way he's staring at me that I'm getting nowhere. But, the now confused look on his face makes me smile for the first time since all this drama has started.

  “Dude, are you sure you’re real?” Then tilting his head, he says, “This must be some really good shit.”

  I'm getting really frustrated at this point, I came all this way and right now I’m kind of out of patience from the three hour drive up here. As I'm about to give up, I hear a voice behind the guy staring at me.

  “Dude, what the hell are you yelling about out here?” says the voice walking to the door.

  When I see who it is, I get excited. It's him! It’s really him. I stare at him and even though I know his name already, just seeing him makes my excitement accelerate. Like I really know who he is and I've missed him so much. The next thing I know I'm throwing myself at him and hugging him.

  He automatically catches me, but stiffens up as I’m holding him, awkwardly tapping me on the back with his hand and then pushes me away so he can get a clear view of my face. He looks confused, which is understandable when a stranger throws herself at you. I realize what I’ve just done, and it makes me feel embarrassed; I shouldn’t have thrown myself at him like that.

  That's when he notices who I am and his jaw drops open. Matthew is holding a joint in his hand, looks down at it, and then hands it over to the first guy. “Here dude, I think this shit is making me trip.”

  Big muscled guy standing next to us gets all excited and starts hopping back and forth on his feet. “Dude, I'm pretty sure you’re not tripping, if you see what I'm seeing.” He draws his eyebrows forward in doubt.

  “You’re seeing her, right?” He doubts again with his eyes. “It's Abigail Adams standing in our front door, right? I’m not tripping?” He gets excited again.

  I decide to take over the conversation. “You’re Matthew Garcia, right?” I ask, looking back at Matthew, and trying to ignore a gawking muscled guy.

  He nods his head and responds, “Just Matt,” and holds out his hand for me to shake.

  As I’m shaking his hand I say, “Is there any way I could come in? I have something I need to talk to you a
bout,” and walk through the front door without waiting for the invitation.

  They both look at each other with dazed looks and nod. Matt takes a couple of fast steps to catch up with me and begins to lead me into the house. The first thing I notice is that even though I have heels on, we are matched in height, and he's not as physically big as the first guy.

  He's still fit all right, but he's slim and he has enough toned muscle to make you drool. He looks like he should be in an Abercrombie ad.

  As he leads me into the living room, he starts guiding me with his hand on my back, and I can feel the warmth in his touch. It sends a thrilling chill through my body and I get excited. Then I quickly remember that this guy is still a total stranger at this point, so I’ll just blame my excitement on my nerves.

  When we enter the living room, I notice it looks like a typical college bachelor pad. Dirty carpet, stained couches, beer bottles, and cans are everywhere. Including on the coffee table, and counters.

  Taking a quick glance at the available seating, I take the only recliner in the living room. It's made of what looks of black leather and I'm praying it’s clean enough for me to sit on it.

  Facing Matt, I notice he and his friend are both staring at me and they still have confused looks on both of their faces.

  I fully take in Matt when he sits down and although I saw him in my dream, seeing him in person is not the same. He’s hotter than the picture or my dreams.

  He’s wearing a shirt similar to the one in my dream, a cutoff and it’s emphasizing every muscle on his chest, and arms making him look sexier.

  His arms are just as toned as his legs and he’s sitting there with his elbows on his knees leaning towards me, which emphasizes a tattoo on his right outer bicep. It’s an angel wing, starting at the top of his shoulder, ending with the tip at his elbow.

  It’s beautiful.