The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  Such a shame.

  Anger

  “April 19th, 2012.

  I write today and not only to let it off my chest. But for realizing how stupid I am. Stupid for accepting their meddling, their interest and their trying to control what does not belong to them.

  For the first time, today, I felt neglected. I felt angry, a latent anger growing in my core and spreading through with its cancerous tentacles, to a level in which you need to realize you’re sick and can no longer fight.

  Today, for the first time, I felt the weight of a hand. I felt how strong fingers can be when around your neck, I felt the pain remaining after the destruction; the wreckage left behind after a storm.

  I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to die.

  No, I don’t want to die, do not grant me that, God, for I don’t deserve death. I don’t deserve peace, I shouldn’t deserve that being who I am. I’m not sure, but I believe I’m a bad person. How would I explain all of this otherwise? How would they explain it?

  I hate myself. Deeply. I don’t recognize me, but I know this negligible and useless being I am now is not the person I used to be. And it’s not his fault. I could blame it on him, but it’s me the one who should be blamed. I am trapped and unable to scream, just like a bird caged by its own feathers, in a place with no sun, no comfort. I’m not the type of person who points fingers and blames it on people, especially when I know that, in the end of it all, the big mistake was mine alone.

  And I hate myself for that.

  I don’t want to die. That would be an easy way, but…

  Maybe I deserve it.

  Maybe we deserve it.”

  I

  The scent of cinnamon had spread itself around the house in a way that Jason could already feel invigorated without even having left the morning bed. It also made him realize Clarice was already up, which was not something new. For the past week things had been relatively calm, except by the late nights and the mornings when she would wake up in desperation without knowing exactly where she was or what she was doing. Little by little they began to overcome that obstacle, but she still seemed quite haunted by her own past ghosts.

  Two nights before she had scared him in such way that Jason still slept with the door open so, in case of something surprising happening again, he would already be good to go and help her. Clarice’s screams echoed through the house while she got into a fugue state, believing someone was choking her. Jason knew it was nothing but a nightmare, but taking her out from that drowsy trance took him a couple of hours and presented him with big dark spots under his eyes and a dull pain on his body after being awake most of the night.

  One of his great questions was if Marco had been ignoring or just enjoying his heavy teenager sleep since he hadn’t woken up in not even one of the occasions nor talked about it during the day. From Jason’s point of view, Marco and Clarice were on the track of having a good relationship, and most of it was due to Clarice had been offering him, even in a distant way, the experience of having a motherly presence at home. Marco still carried with him the traumas for having lost his mother and the weight of everything that had happened in that cruel night when she left them, but he was slowly opening himself up to Clarice, except when it came to the inevitable proximity growing between Jason and her. Proximity that Jason didn’t seem to bother Jason, who believed to be sure of what he was doing. He was aiding a woman in need, not getting into a love story he would easily write about in one of his books.

  His writing, by the way, had taken new proportions. Jason decided to give up the book he had previously been working on to start a whole new story, partially inspired by Clarice. The idea had come to him in one of those nights helping Clarice wake up from another ominous nightmare and, so that she could go back to sleep again, he told her the possible story he would write had he been responsible for Clarice’s fate. It all was triggered after a breakfast conversation, while he tasted one of Clarice’s magnificent teas, using those healthy plants she could find in the house or in its surroundings. The snow had given them a slack, allowing longer walks during the day.

  “How is it like, being an author?” Clarice had asked him, while stirring her tea and, as usual, licking her spoon before returning it to the sink.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How it works. You decide to write a horror novel and start creating characters and a story over that idea or they just… come to your mind?”

  Jason remembered shrugging while blowing his tea to cool it off.

  “I can’t quite explain. I consider myself more of a story teller than a creator, per se. It’s like… It’s like I’m a journalist, reporting something that really happened in some parallel universe, a distant world with this connection, do you get me?”

  He recalled her smile while nodding.

  “Like science fiction movies.”

  “I have a secret,” He said, while tasting the tea in short sips. “Few know about it, only a couple of close friends or long time readers.”

  He also recalled that she never asked him to continue the story, at least not with words. The way she showed her interest was all about the way her eyes turned more lucid, sparkly, preventing him for demanding any more explanations.

  “All my stories are connected somehow. Even though a series of books are just drama and a random standalone book is about a criminal investigation or I had written another story about, I don’t know, doctors. There’s always a part of the universes that connect to each other, as if they all lived in the same world and, eventually, could cross each other’s path. Actually, I’ve already made references to it in some stories.”

  “Sounds… magical. And I thought writers needed some external inspiration, something unrelated or visual…”

  “Maybe some, but we do not work all the same way. You inspire me.”

  The strongest memory from that conversation and the reason he so well recalled it was exactly that sentence he had said. The fear of sounding too pretentious haunted him.

  “How so?”

  “A missing woman, found in the woods, no memories. It may even sound a little cliché at first, but there are so many roads to be taken there.”

  “And what would you write about me?”

  “Not exactly about you, but as an inspiration? I don’t know.” He had sighed before adding some more cinnamon and milk to his tea. “Maybe a woman with an obscure past, just like you, without memories, but who starts changing the lives of those around her.”

  “A romance,” she had mocked, playfully. “With a happy ending? It doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Not at all. Remember the ‘obscure past’ part? That would be the climax.”

  “A serial killer husband ready to end the lives of everyone she’s helping?”

  “Maybe a touch of supernatural. I like the supernatural. Or maybe scientific. She could be some experiment gone wrong and left there in the woods.”

  “Perhaps she’s there to collect information for extraterrestrial beings.”

  And while they shared absurd ideas and had fun with each other, Jason started right in that morning to sketch possible stories that could support that unique character. And for the first time, in years, he broke his own creative process, opening himself to something new, something special, something that could bring him youngness and the feeling he used to have years before, when coming upon a new, original, different idea. A feeling gone for a long time, mostly because of alcohol’s long-term effects.

  Jason set the good memory away and sat on the bed, searching for the robe he always wore and left at the end of the bed. Then he stood up and opened the curtains, allowing the posterior glass wall of the room to illuminate the whole place, letting the lazy and greyish sunlight restore the energy of that place.

  Morning had just arrived and tried to show it could turn enjoyable with an open weather, something he could use in his favor, since he needed to refill his pantry as soon as possible. While tying the robe around his body and
observing the surroundings with the amazing view he got from there, Jason believe to have seen something moving in the vicinities, but he knew it could be a deer or a large rabbit. He ignored the trick his eyes played and inhaled deeply during his first stretch, admiring the distant mountains and the lightly grey skies going far, for miles ahead.

  As he walked downstairs, Marco and Clarice were already at the kitchen and, as always, she came to him, tea in hands. Jason had learned Clarice had a unique aptitude for preparing drinks and not only tea. She knew how to concoct amazing cocktails and refreshments, brew perfect coffee and, of course, tea. He had even once suggested she could have been a barista, to which she laughed.

  Jason’s favorite was a mystery to himself and, for the magic of it, he decided to leave it that way. He knew she would always give it a very specific amount of milk, sugar cubes, a gentle touch of cinnamon and something different, spicy, maybe ginger. From the other ingredients, he knew nothing about and, even if he did, he believed he wouldn’t be as successful as she were on preparing it. Maybe she had a real gift for that. Whatever it was, it made him happy. It was slightly sweet, but at the same time had traces of a more concentrated green tea, mixed to other flavors.

  “Morning,” he greeted, getting from Clarice a wide smile and, from Marco, a nod.

  “Marco was just telling me his plans for the day.”

  Jason smiled and sat at the counter, observing the breakfast partially served. The scent of cinnamon was not only coming from the tea, but also from the waffles and some different dessert she had prepared. The need to go to the market hit him as a cold breeze on the chest, he couldn’t forget that.

  “Studying.” Marco completed.

  “Back in my time,” Jason said while grabbing an empty plate. “Winter breaks were much more productive away from studies. I wonder if those studies had an extra reason.”

  Jason and Clarice shared an accomplice glare, to which Marco mumbled something and bit a waffle. Apparently, there was, indeed, a reason unrelated to books. A crush, maybe? Jason decided not to ask and simply smirked.

  “How’s the memory?”

  He didn’t need to spend time wondering the correct way to ask that question, Clarice had already understood he was not trying to kick her out, but actually willing to help her recover those lost obscure records. So far, she had remembered a life lived in the big city that needed to be taken to the suburbs. She also knew her husband was an important lawyer, one of the partners in a big law firm she couldn’t remember the name and that he probably had some other woman in his life. Aside from that, only violent memories would come up, possibly caused by the trauma she had suffered. The wounds were already superficially healed, but her biggest ones were underneath her skin in a place she refused to reach and he avoided to push. Then there were only those nightmares, the only part from the memories she couldn’t control so easily.

  “I was reading some of those journals you found and I feel like some pieces are trying to return to me.” She took a moment, her eyes lost at some undefined spot that was not exactly Jason. “I remember this house, in the middle of the snow, with terrible howling wind, but I’m not sure if it’s mine or if it’s the place I was before.”

  “You could go there and confirm it.” Marco suggested, already finishing his breakfast and getting ready to leave.

  “No.” Jason intervened. “If there’s a chance your husband might be prowling around there, it should be the last place for you to go to. There’s also the risk of the Sheriff seeing you.”

  “And that would be bad because…?” Marco asked. “He would help her, right?”

  As indelicate as they could be, Jason knew Marco’s doubts were genuinely innocent. He was curious, not finding reasons to want Clarice gone. By some means they seemed closer now and Marco had turned less hostile about her and even Jason, as crazy as it could sound.

  “I don’t know how good my chances would be trying to make a man understand how it is to suffer on the hands of another man.” Clarice replied in low voice, under her breath. “No offence to you, who are being incredible and sheltering me.”

  Jason remained silent and glanced at Marco, who seemed to understand the message. There was nothing to say, besides what they had already learned with each other.

  “You’ll recover your memories and, soon enough, will recall someone who can help you.” Jason assured, serving himself while speaking. “Until then, we’re willing to help you the best way we can, you know that.”

  “And I thanked you already, but I cannot help saying it again.”

  “Well, this mushy talk is my cue.” Marco said already going to the living room. “I’ll probably be back by night, I text you if something happens.”

  “Behave.” Jason was too focused on his meal to worry about it. “Just don’t take the car, I have to hit the town later.”

  “Chill, Renée is giving me a ride, we’ll study together.”

  The next sounds were from Marco’s footsteps and the closing door. Jason didn’t remember a girl named Renée – or a boy for what matter, he had no idea if this person was a guy or a girl, but it also didn’t matter that much -, but not having to fight over the car’s possession for the day made him chill. Marco had just gotten his license and, ever since, a war started, first because Jason didn’t want to give him his own car so soon or easily, also because Jason didn’t want to give his own vehicle up when he needed – which, coincidently or not, always happened when his son got the urge to drive. Moreover, he was aware the roads were still layered with ice and it was not safe to have him so free racing around with so many risks.

  “He had a lover.”

  Jason lifted his eyes from the tea suddenly, unsure whether she really meant that.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My husband. Last night I woke up from this weird dream, more of a memory than a dream. I guess it was about one of the first times he physically hurt me.”

  Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to go deep in that subject, it felt too personal to share and, besides, the introduction alone had tightened a knot in his stomach. It was obvious he didn’t want to relive those memories with her, but he had no apologies to offer nor anything to say. He just nodded, suggesting her to continue, although all he wanted to do was to finish his coffee and escape that particular memory.

  “I was at the hospital, in the dream. Suddenly I saw my own life come back piece by piece to me, as if I were rewinding a movie, you know. I never learned her name. It was a text message on his phone, one I had the pleasure to read. G. It was all I knew.”

  “Clarice, you don’t have to feel obligated to share…”

  “I’m sorry, I never intended to bring you any discomfort. It’s just…” She let her body drop onto one of the stools around the kitchen island, leaning against the black marble counter while observing Jason without actually seeing him. “I don’t understand. An affair is understandable, and so is lack of love… but violence to the point of killing your wife?”

  Jason swallowed his whole tea in one gulp and bit another piece of waffle. He was full of it, and not only food-wise.

  “If it weren’t for the whole situation, I’d tell you to go out and unwind.”

  “I don’t know what else to do, Jason. Though I do not remember that much, this little makes me realize I’m alone.”

  Finally, he moved his glare up to her and faced the woman, noticing all the pain and frustrations behind those lost eyes.

  “You’re not alone, Clarice.”

  “I don’t mean to be spiteful, Jason. You and Marco are great and you’re offering me a good recovery, but someday I’ll have to leave and I just realized that maybe I’ll have nowhere to go.”

  “Well,” he lifted his shoulders and opened a gentle smirk. As much as he wanted to offer support, he knew he was right at the end of the day. “Maybe with the end of this whole husband situation, you’ll get some nice load of money out of it and disappear somewhere in the world.”

  “Alone.” Sh
e exhaled again, distractedly swirling a cinnamon stick in her tea. Eventually, she smiled and raised her head, as if the depressing moment had vanished away just like that. “Anyway, I didn’t want to cast a shadow on your day with such mournful speeches.”

  “Do you remember anything at all beyond that? I mean, family, parents, friends… people who could help you somehow?”

  She swiftly shook her head, her ginger hair dancing in waves around her as an angelical halo and, for instants, no one could even tell she had such disturbing and forgotten past. If only the circumstances were different…

  “I’m not sure I want to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This memory, from the hospital… two broken ribs and a nurse talking to me. No friends. Not sure whether they were ostracized, but… oh. I don’t know if I should go back to that old life, Jason.”

  “You should stay.” He murmured, a thought that escaped his lips.

  Surprised on sabotaging himself, Jason cleared his throat and finished his waffle, fearing the answer that could come without facing the woman so that he could avoid capturing any information opposed to what he really desired, deep down.

  “I don’t know if I should. I’m thankful for the invitation, Jason, but what you’re doing for me is already enough, maybe more than you should.”

  “You’re not an annoyance.”

  “That’s not… You have your own lives, I’m not a part of it.”

  Her eyes were once more distant and vague, and she could be considering his alternative from what he could see, although she could be merely hovering inside her own mind, trying to catch other escaping memories.

  “How come? Marco is already a lot comfortable with you and, well, I like our conversations, when they are not so obscure.”

  Her lips curved into a smile, but she gave him no answers. He feared that she could have misunderstood him and, though it could be a future possibility, he wasn’t proposing to her or anything related to that.