by Stacey Nash
“Are you okay?” The door muffles her voice.
I must be taking too long, but I don’t care; she’s not coming in. Just to make sure, I jam my foot against the closed door. “I’m fine.”
After washing my hands, I angle my head around to look at the lump in the mirror which hangs over the basin. But I can’t see it. My head doesn’t bend that far and I’m not moving my foot from its wedge to spin further.
An angry red welt rings my neck. I raise my hand to meet the discolored skin, which stings like crazy when I touch it. Again, really weird. Words flood back in a slightly foggy haze. Blow to the head. I can’t quite remember them all. Kids playing with tech.
A sharp rap sounds on the door again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I don’t bother to answer, just pull the door open and meet her eye to eye. “What happened to my neck?”
“I’m not sure, I wasn’t there,” she admits. “Come, let’s get you back to bed.” She holds her arm out again, but I don’t want it. The mark on my neck isn’t right. There’s no way a blow to the head could cause an injury like I was choked. With my shoulders as squared as my over-worked muscles allow, I walk past her in the direction of the white-linen covered bed. And boy, are my muscles sore; what’s with that?
We’re nearly there, but dots dance in my vision and I stop, clutching my head to stop it from spinning. The girl grabs my other arm and I can’t help it, I stumble and lean on her. Neither of us move for a few moments until finally, the edges of my vision clear, leaving a blur in the center. I sure feel funny. Inch by inch, the clarity returns and I’m no longer swaying like the room is moving without me. My stomach roils uncomfortably though, and she gently tugs on my arm, guiding me to the bed.
“You’ve overdone it. Best lay down.”
I make a small noise of agreement and ease myself onto the mattress. Twisting around, I swing my legs up onto the bed and edge back into the pillow. “How did—”
“I’ll be back in a moment.” She disappears behind the curtain partition, leaving me in silence. My neck stings, my head throbs and, dazed, I stare at the intricately embossed ceiling until my eyes start to slide closed. So sleepy. A few moments later the curtain ruffles, and there’s a soft touch on my shoulder.
“Anamae?” she says.
“Wha …?”
The red-headed girl holds out a plate of sandwiches.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie. An ill feeling sloshes through my stomach with the need to know where I am and what happened. I’ll just have to ask her outright.
She draws her brows together. “You have to eat or you won’t get better.”
I let out a low groan. “I feel sick.”
“I know,” she says, but shoves the plate closer anyway. “Just one square.”
I turn my head away. “What happened to me? I don’t remember an accident, or a knock to the head. How—”
“You don’t remember?”
I sift through my mind to find the right memory, but it’s like the words have vanished leaving only blank pages. I give her a hesitant nod then change my mind and shake it. “I … well …”
“Oh, honey.” She places a hand on the blanket-covered lump that is my leg. My throat thickens, burns, and pressure builds behind my eyes as though I could burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. There was an accident while you were training.” She pauses, brows scrunched. “I don’t know all the details. Just wait a moment and I’ll go get the hocrei.”
She squeezes my leg, then rushes out of the room.
Training? My mind immediately jumps to track but I dismiss it. I’m not a runner. I draw my hand across my neck again. Some accident if I got a rope burn around my neck. The ridges on the stinging welt make me certain that’s what did the damage.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
The curtain swishes back and it’s not the girl’s face which appears. It’s a pear-shaped middle-aged lady, her graying hair slicked back in a tight bun. Form-hugging navy slacks coupled with a matching blouse fit too tight for her plumpish body. She purses her lips and looks down her nose at me. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I … ah … I want—”
She taps her foot on the floor. Where’s Red? At least she was friendly. My nerves jitter.
“Well?”
I take a deep breath. She can’t get to me, no matter how annoyed she seems. “I want to know how I got hurt and why I’m here.”
“You were knocked out. It gave you a concussion.”
“How?”
“You took a blow to your head in training.”
“Training? I don’t train. Track’s not my thing nor is any sport, really.”
“Training, you know, practicing with tech weapons.” She shakes her head and huffs like I’m wasting her time.
“Tech … weapons … what the—”
She bends down till her face is even with mine. “Look, little girl, I don’t have time for all these silly questions. If I were you, I wouldn’t let on that you’re dumb as a daisy. If he knows the blow knocked all sense from your mind … well, you’re not worth the effort, are you?”
I gulp. “It was an accident?”
“You’d better make sure you don’t show any of this unsatisfactory behavior. You’re luckier than most, getting a second chance. I’d be careful sweetheart, because if you stuff up …” Her lips press into a tiny pucker. “If your behavior slips at all … you’ll be out.” She spins on her heel, her shoes clacking on the tiles as she leaves.
My head spins, and it’s not from the concussion. I can’t decide if that was a warning or a threat. If she’s right, then maybe I shouldn’t ask anyone, but that seems kind of ridiculous. I sigh and take a square quarter of sandwich, raising it to my mouth. The smell of honey wafts from it and my mouth waters even though my stomach is more unsettled than ever. I reluctantly take a nibble.
Nothing happens, so I shove the rest in, and grab another then glance to the window, wishing I could see outside. Pity the heavy blinds are drawn. The only light in the room pulses from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. It could be either night or day out there. My concept of time is completely out of whack. I wolf down the other three quarters and lean back onto the pillows, their softness closing around me.
When I wake to the sound of hushed voices I’m alone in the room: no Red, no stuck-up prissy. My eyes open easily and I feel good, like I’ve slept all night. The sound of heels on tiles echoes against the walls. Great. I firm my resolve, ready for her, and sure enough the same woman appears from behind the curtain partition. Navy slacks, navy spotted blouse and noisy loafers. She’s got to be a nurse. How did I miss that yesterday?
Hospital.
Of course, that makes so much sense. She doesn’t make eye contact, no matter how hard I stare at the stern lines marking her face, a sure sign she never smiles. She strides over to the window and winds up the blind, flooding the room with bright sunlight. My eyes take off on a blinking marathon from the sting of natural light. Then she comes back, reaching toward me. Instinct makes me pull back, but her cold fingers close over my wrist anyway and I flinch. They’re like ice.
Apparently my glaring has no effect because she still doesn’t meet my eye or speak. My wrist burns from her freezing touch, her fingers pressing harder than needed to take my pulse.
She drops it. Her eyes meet mine, finally, but they’re cold, hard, completely lacking in emotion. “You are well enough to check out. I will inform your next of kin.” Her eyes narrow on me. “I don’t want to hear about any more of your silly questions.”
She strides out of the room and I’m left alone once again. I’m a patient for heaven’s sake, obviously confused, and I still have so many questions. She made it clear I’m not welcome to ask them though, not of her or anyone. Her implications fill me with unease. Showing confusion puts me in danger? That’s all I did, I think … how is that unsatisfactory behavior? And why would I need a second chance? Th
ere has to be something I’m not remembering that caused her reaction. It’s just too much. Maybe she’s not the bitch, maybe I am and I just don’t remember. I glance out the window, but there’s not much to see: a thick branch covered by green leaves blocking the outside view. That’s pretty much it.
The bed moves, jostling me around. I turn to see what caused it and the red-haired girl from yesterday smiles from her seat near my feet. The sight of her releases the clenching on my insides.
“Good news, they’re letting you out,” she says.
“Yeah, so the icy chick said.”
She giggles then shoots a hand to her mouth, but her eyes flash in warning.
“Where am I going?”
“Home.”
Home. For some reason I can’t summon up a mental image: a house, an apartment, the country or the city. No matter how hard I try, nothing is there. I don’t even know who’s coming to get me. Is it her? I glance around the room and back to her face hoping to find answers, but there are none. As I raise my hand to rub my neck, a stinging pain meets my touch, making me suck air through my teeth.
“What happened here?” I point to my neck. “It can’t have been the blow.”
“Training.” She tosses her head toward the open curtain. “Didn’t she fill you in?”
“No.” I swallow, remembering the nurse’s warning. “She was kind of rude.”
She hmphs. “I’m so sorry I don’t know, otherwise I’d tell you. Maybe someone who was there …”
“Yeah, maybe.” I scratch at my cuticle.
Her bright curls spring as she nods. “Come, let’s get you ready, he’ll be here soon.” She points to a peppermint-colored towel hooked over the end of my bed.
Right.
I swing my legs over the side, climb down, and head to the small bathroom. Who’s coming? A friend, family member, someone else? There’s a pile of clothes sitting on the wooden bench: jeans and a cream T-shirt. I discard the white robe and after I’ve showered, pull on the clothes. The smell of pine, dirt, and lavender clings to the fabric. It’s so good that I suck the smell in like I need it just to live. Somehow, the anxious feeling I’ve had since I woke fades.
When I return to the small room, Red’s standing by the window. She uncrosses her arms from her middle then wraps them around herself again.
“Anamae,” says a male voice.
I jump a little and spin around to see a young man standing in the corner, maybe a year or two older than Red. Dark hair perfectly styled into a spiked halo matches the color of his eyes, which are looking right at me. Both are offset by a tan shirt which accentuates his muscled chest. He smiles and it’s breathtaking. “Time to take you home.”
I try to return his smile but mine feels forced. My mind’s too busy trying to catalogue his face. Brother, cousin, friend, boyfriend? He’s certainly boyfriend material. I don’t know though, he could be anyone. If he’s discharging me … he must be my next of kin.
I look around the small room, searching for a bag, but the nightstand’s empty as are the two chairs and the floor. I can feel him watching me the whole time. Eventually the sensation draws my eyes to him and I fake-smile. Even though it’s meant it to look real, I know it’s not because this guy is no more familiar than Red. Yet he knows me too, which is completely unnerving. Pushing my hair out of my face, I glance away then back up at him out of the corner of my eye.
Red turns around and gives me a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Good god, surely I don’t have to come back here. I return her smile, but deep in my gut leaving her feels wrong even though I can’t recall our friendship.
She must notice my hesitation because her smile grows and her curls bob enthusiastically as she nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glances at the guy, who shoots her a sickly-sweet grin and says, “Thank you, Cynnie.”
He takes my wrist, placing my hand on his forearm. The smile he gives me looks warm and genuine, but my insides protest, not wanting me to go with him. Red … Cynnie gestures that I should. Then she places a kiss on my cheek and whispers, “He’s not as bad as his reputation.”
I swallow, frown, then let him lead me out the door. Dear lord, just what is his reputation? And why did she expect me to know about it?
Chapter Four
Mae
The hottie leads me past rooms separated with partitions and filled with beds. On the way out the only other thing is long corridors. Maybe this place is not what I first thought after all, but really, who knows? A glass door slides open and he drops his arm from under my hand, walking out the entrance without looking back. I follow him into the cool morning air. A narrow road, completely paved, lays at the bottom of the steps, with trees planted at intervals along its far side. He walks down a few stairs, straight to the path then steps onto a silver metal-looking hexagonal … something. Frowning, I pause by the base of the stairs. It’s the strangest looking … what is that?
He waves his hand through the air impatiently, pointing to the thing. “On you get.”
I eye it tentatively and extend one foot, touching my toe to the edge. The guy huffs, his face twisting then smoothing out. With a tiny smile, he holds his hand out. “What’s wrong? Hop on.”
I look at his hand then glance to his face. “What is this thing?”
A flash of emotion crosses his features before they return to a smile. “A transport. They warned me you had a concussion.”
If he knows the blow knocked all sense from your mind … well, you’re not worth the effort are you? Sure lady, whatever. If this guy’s my next of kin, he’ll care.
“Yeah, I’m having trouble remembering. I guess that’s why.”
He doesn’t so much as bat an eye, instead he gestures toward the transport. “I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
I take his hand, flatten my foot onto its center, and bring the other one up too. Surprisingly, the transport holds steady even though it’s floating. The second I’m on, a clear barrier rises around the six edges in a loud whoosh.
I flinch at the sudden movement.
He presses blue and green buttons on a screen that appeared on one of the sides, his back to me. We zoom forward and I stumble back against the wall with the momentum, a small squeal escaping. The jerk doesn’t turn or even acknowledge that I’m startled. No are you okay, no sorry, no hand out to help me up. Guess he expected me to know I should hold on.
Planting my hand on the floor, I push back onto my feet. Buildings and trees zoom by outside our moving platform and I have to brace myself against a corner, palms clinging to the smooth sides. My hands slide down, so I palm the sweat on my jeans one hand at a time, not letting go. We move fast. So fast I can’t really see anything to figure out where we’re headed.
It seems only a few moments have passed when the transport comes to a sudden halt, tossing me forward. I tumble into the guy and suck in a breath as he turns, a small smile flitting across his chiseled face, but then it’s gone so fast maybe I imagined it. He presses another button and the barrier drops while I regain my footing and climb off the now stable transport with my legs quivering beneath me.
Did he just toss me around deliberately? He turns and warms me with a smile that steadies my legs. Silly thoughts, of course he didn’t. I return his friendly glance and he strides across the lawn toward the mansion-like building, then opens a small door on the side. “Come on,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet.
The manicured lawn sponges softly under my feet while he stands there holding the door and ushering me through. Once inside, I glance around, but this place isn’t familiar, either. It’s some kind of a foyer or a small entrance with a hat stand and sideboard pushed against one wall. This is so strange. Nothing has been familiar since I woke … surely that’s not right. Concussion wouldn’t make me forget my home, my family, my life. Would it?
He yanks open a door, exposing a tiny room, flicks on the light, and he tosses something small and black into a bowl on the sideboard. Bl
inking and more than a little confused, I can’t focus on any one thing. He walks straight past a staircase which leads up and instead goes through a door on the far side of the room.
With a small shake of my head, I rush to catch up and fall into step beside him. My short legs struggle to keep pace with his long stride, down a corridor, and past an open door. “Hey, slow down,” I puff, but he mustn’t hear.
A delicious smell wafting out of the room—something baking—is enough to make my stomach grumble, but we keep moving. All the while circling around to finally come to an open space. My guide stops, surveys the area, and beckons for me to follow. It’s completely silly, but I feel like a tourist gawking at the splendor. The enclosed glass case before us is just the beginning. The carpet, the wallpaper, the embroidered wall hanging, it’s just … so much. He flicks a switch and the glass slides back, then he steps inside and tosses his head for me to follow. Another strange contraption. Weird that there’s so much I can’t remember.
The glass slides closed and we rise.
As we ascend, I can see the open area below us is a vast space. Tiles in the center make up a mosaic pattern on the floor. Before I can puzzle out what the picture is, the elevator rises into the ceiling, replacing the space with blackness. A landing flits by, someone standing on it waiting; gone as quick as it came. We rise into the dark once more then the elevator slows and blue carpeted floor stretches out before us.
He steps out and turns to face me. “Almost there.”
“Where?”
“Your room.”
I follow him down a wide, elegant hallway with intricate patterns in the blue carpet that matches the pretty wallpaper. Staring at his back as we walk: broad shoulders, thick frame, a little short for a guy at about five-six. The way his dark hair curls slightly at his hairline is kind of intriguing but nothing about him is familiar. I find my head swaying from side to side, in time with his rolling gait.
He goes through an open door, breaking my trance, and I follow into a large and fancy room. The antique furniture makes it look like some sort of sitting room with a chaise lounge, writing desk, and small table. Hard-covered books are jam-packed into a beautiful wooden bookcase, so full some rest on their sides, taking up every available inch of space.
