by Zoe Winters
She was still unsure what their history together was, but she had a hard time believing he’d broken her heart, at least directly. Maybe she’d had a crush and he’d never known about it. It would explain the X-rated thoughts that had been running on repeat in her brain since they’d gotten out of the forest.
She looked up to find him watching her with an amused grin on his face as if her brain were a Teleprompter.
“Sorry, I was thinking.”
She reluctantly moved, breaking the contact his hand had made with her upper thigh. She was embarrassed she’d remained as still as possible in the car, not wanting him to realize he was touching her and pull away. He had to have known, yet he hadn’t moved either. Why did she feel suddenly like she was in junior high? It’s probably for the best I can’t remember junior high.
There were good points to amnesia. You didn’t remember every time you’d made a fool of yourself. Or the stupid, hurtful things you’d said to others. Or love lost. It was a fresh slate to start all over on.
She looked up to find Anthony standing beside her door, ready to open it. Man, he’d moved fast. She got out of the car to stand beside him.
If she had to guess, he was about six foot four. His shoulder-length blonde hair was swept back into a low ponytail. On Fabio, Charlee found it a ridiculous hairstyle. But it definitely worked for Anthony.
She spotted the Irish Setter running toward them. “Oh.” She’d forgotten the dog in all the amnesia. “I can’t leave Sammy. Who will feed him?”
When the dog got closer, he took one look at the doctor, then whimpered and ran into the woods. Charlee started to go after him, but Anthony put a hand out in front of her.
“No, let me. It’s dark out. All sorts of nasty things run around after sunset.”
Before she could protest, he darted into the wooded area after the dog. She didn’t blame Sammy; she’d felt much the same way when she’d met the man earlier. Maybe she and Anthony had no history at all. If Sammy reacted that way, it might just be a vibe he gave off, and then once you got to know him it went away. Though, weren’t dogs supposed to have good instincts about people?
Before she could follow that thought trail further, Anthony appeared again with the dog in his arms. Sammy’s tail wagged happily as he licked Anthony’s face like they’d been best pals for years. Very strange.
Chapter Five
A ritzy six-story apartment building rose out of the center of downtown Cary Town. The building was from another era, full of old-world elegance where time moved at a more leisurely pace. It seemed out of place standing next to more modern architecture and buildings that didn’t rise above three stories.
Charlee tried not to gawk at the luxury surrounding her as they finished loading her bags onto a gold-gilded rolling cart. The lobby ceilings were high, and crystal chandeliers flooded the room with light that bounced off mirrors and shiny tiled floor. Anthony hurried ahead to the elevator and jabbed impatiently at the button.
She glanced around, searching for the source of his agitation. Finding nothing unusual, she shrugged and headed for the elevator. He held the door while she pulled the cart in behind her.
“Are you sure this is okay?” she whispered, nodding toward the dog as she got on the cherry-paneled elevator. Sammy was lying at her feet as the doors slid shut, panting happily.
“I’m renting the penthouse. It’s fine.”
The metal doors opened on six to plush hunter green carpeting which led to a single matching door at the end of the hallway.
The penthouse was lavish, as expected, and very male. Dark colors. Thick fabrics. Not a flower or doily in sight. The windows were odd, though. They were thin, narrow panes up near the high ceilings.
Charlee wondered what kind of person would want to pay outrageous sums of money to live in what amounted to a cave with tiny strips of light filtering in. In fact, the furniture seemed to have been strategically positioned to avoid all sunlight.
Anthony interrupted the mental calculations in her head. “I sleep during the day. This was an ideal living situation.” It was like he’d read her mind. But then she figured she probably hadn’t been very covert about the window assessment. Between that and her pathetic attempt at eavesdropping back at the cottage, stealth just wasn’t her game.
“I thought you were a psychiatrist.”
“You think mental disturbance stops after the sun goes down? That’s generally when it begins. I get paid a premium to work the graveyard shift. I’m afraid I won’t be able to entertain you during the days, but there is a private pool on the roof. You’re welcome to use it while you’re here.”
Back at her house, he’d suggested she pack a swimsuit. She’d assumed there was an apartment community pool she could use, but a private one for the sole use of those in the penthouse was even better. Lying on a towel and baking in the sun sounded nice right then. She wondered if he missed the sun working at night. That couldn’t be normal.
She excused herself to drop her bags off in the guest room, still unsure how he’d be able to help her. Curiosity compelled her to take a quick peek at his bedroom, as well as the bathroom.
When she returned to the living area, Sammy was sprawled in the middle of the couch with his head on Anthony’s lap.
“You don’t have a bathroom mirror.”
He appeared uncomfortable, and she immediately felt bad critiquing his choice of design. The man was letting her stay in this amazing penthouse rent-free while she tried to sort out her memories. He was giving her free psychological care to help facilitate that, and she had to commentate about his weird, short windows, and lack of bathroom mirror.
“I’m a guy. I live alone. I know what I look like. Are you ready to go?”
Charlee was startled by his abrupt tone. She glanced to the clock on the mantle. It was nearly ten-thirty. “Go? Go where?”
“To the all-night grocery. I’m afraid I don’t have any food in the house. I eat out a lot.”
“Whatever you have is fine. I don’t remember what I like anyway.”
Anthony pushed Sammy’s head off his lap and rose to go to the kitchen. She followed. He opened the cupboards, fridge, and freezer. There literally was nothing there, not even so much as a tin of coffee grounds.
“I haven’t lived here long.”
“Okay.”
The weird, anxious feeling she’d felt on first meeting him started to creep back in. She couldn’t think of a logical reason for it. Maybe it wasn’t Anthony. It was entirely possible he just happened to be there when she started doing this meltdown thing she did.
For all she knew, she had a history of mental disorder that hadn’t taken a vacation when her memory had. Good thing she was staying with a shrink.
***
They’d gotten a cart with a squeaky wheel and had spent fifteen minutes in complete indecision standing in the produce aisle staring at the fruits and vegetables as if neither of them had ever eaten food before. Finally, they agreed to toss things in and sort it later. If they didn’t, they’d never get out of there.
As they squeaked up and down the aisles, Charlee felt tense again. She chanced a look at Anthony and the mystery of why was solved. His jaw was clenched tightly as they walked along, anger radiating from his eyes.
“Did I do something?”
He rounded on her, his arms gesturing as he spoke. “Yes. This . . . this isn’t you. You don’t behave this way.”
“How am I behaving?”
“You’re behaving like a little mouse, and it’s driving me up the wall.”
He could have said a million things and each of them she would have been prepared to handle, except this. “As a psychiatrist don’t you think you should be a little more understanding? I don’t even know who I am. How am I supposed to know how to act? I can’t even remember if I like oranges.
“Tell me, doctor . . . is that normal? I’ve never heard of a case of amnesia where a person can’t even remember what food they like. I’ve had people ac
ting weird around me all day with clandestine meetings held behind closed doors. About me, I might add. And blood drawn and the results not explained to me. Then you show up, all dark and brooding with your coat flapping out behind you like a comic book villain, and you’re upset I’m not acting like me?”
She took a deep breath and continued on. “I didn’t even know that we knew each other before today. But apparently so. No one has taken the time to bother to tell me much of anything except for how they’re all going to take care of it.” She was flushed and angry, her hands gripping the cart as if for her life.
A third shift stock boy and a college girl had poked their heads around the corner to witness the display. Anthony stood with his mouth hanging open; then he burst out laughing.
“God, that’s better. Let’s finish shopping shall we?”
He managed to wrangle the cart from her tight-fisted grip without any trouble and started down the next aisle, whistling. Charlee stared after him, trying to assess his mental condition.
***
It took two rolling carts to get the bags to the penthouse. Charlee had offered to pay for the groceries with her credit card, but Anthony had declined. It was probably for the best. She didn’t know what kind of money manager she was. It would be mortifying if her account showed she didn’t have enough of a balance to buy all that food.
“So, how are we going to do this?” she asked while they were finding homes for the groceries. Sammy trailed behind them, wagging his tail and waiting for someone to drop something he could easily tear into.
“How are we going to do what?” Anthony was reading the instructions on the red coffee pot he’d purchased. “This smells awful. This new smell. I don’t know how you hu . . . I don’t know how you stand it.”
Charlee had been busy organizing cereal and other dry goods in the pantry. She ignored his weird comment about the coffee maker. Hadn’t he ever used a new appliance before? Yeah, there was a smell, but it wasn’t like it knocked you over or anything.
“Helping me. I thought the reason for my staying here was to help me get my memory back. How exactly are we going to do that? I thought memories just naturally came back on their own.” The whole scenario was sounding stranger the longer she thought about it.
Anthony finally looked up from the coffee pot. “We are not drinking this swill. I’ll brew another pot after this one. I’m sorry, what?”
“What do I need to be observed for? You guys said I needed to stay here for observation.”
“Oh. That. Yes, well, you’re very disoriented. You don’t have any family locally. Greta is the only person you’re really close to, and Dayne is sick. It would be a good idea if someone were with you to keep an eye on you and help you along until your memory either returns or you get oriented to your surroundings.”
Charlee thought about that while she lined up the canned goods. Finally, she turned back to him. “How do we know each other? Or is there some rule you can’t tell me anything about my life?” There was an edge of irritation in her voice.
“No, I can tell you. I’m a regular patron at Lawson’s Bookshoppe, where you work with Greta. Her mother, Jaden, owns the store. Though Greta may become the new owner. Jaden seems to have run off. You used to smart off to me a lot when I came in.”
Charlee looked horrified. “How did I keep a job that way?”
Anthony chuckled. “Oh, believe me, I had it coming. I provoked, you retaliated. It was a little game we played. We both liked it.”
“Oh.” Charlee felt her face growing hotter. “So that’s all of it? Our only interactions have been at the bookstore?”
Anthony’s eyes seemed to darken for a moment, then his face shifted back to the calm mask from before. “Yes.”
A cell phone in his coat pocket rang. “Hello?” A pause. “Linus. No, that would not be convenient. I am indisposed at the moment . . . Yes, something like that. I would prefer to meet you. Do you know the diner three blocks from my building? There. Twenty minutes would be fine.”
“I could leave if you need to meet someone here,” Charlee said when he’d disconnected the call. She regretted she was interrupting his schedule. “Are you supposed to be at work now?”
“Fortunately, I have the week off. This was an emergency call. One of my patients. He’s a bit unbalanced to put it lightly, and I wasn’t comfortable having him near you.”
“Oh.” Charlee wasn’t sure doctors were supposed to call their patients unbalanced in front of others. Wasn’t that part of doctor/patient confidentiality? Or at least good taste?
Anthony grabbed his keys from the counter. “Will you be okay alone here? I have satellite television if you aren’t yet ready to sleep.”
She started to open her mouth to reply, but he was already out the door. Hello, rhetorical question. She finished with the groceries and put the plastic bags inside the pantry. She found it odd he’d not bought a single grocery item for the place until now.
He’d said he’d just moved in, but the apartment, though tidy, looked lived in. Charlee’s eyes scanned the penthouse looking for details that would confirm his “just moved in” story. A few weeks worth of newspapers sat stacked in the corner. That wasn’t just moving in. Not unless he toted old newspapers around with him, which seemed like strange behavior, even for him.
She went back to the bathroom and stared at the space where the mirror should be. No mirrors in the house. No food in the fridge. Night schedule. Furniture arranged where no sunlight could reach. Sammy freaked out. She freaked out.
“If I didn’t know any better, Doctor Burgess, I’d say you were a vampire.”
Immediately she regretted saying the words aloud, as if speaking them made them real, or as if someone could possibly hear her all tucked away in the penthouse of the Cary Town Luxury Apartments.
She had to have a mental disorder, otherwise why was being under observation so necessary? Maybe she had delusions. Or was paranoid. Both seemed to fit the bill. Vampires weren’t real. He’d probably laugh or put her on a Thorazine drip if he knew the path her thoughts had just tumbled down.
Sammy followed her into the guest bedroom while she unpacked and slipped into pajamas. The guest room looked as if it had been decorated by the staff and had been left in its original state. Something about it screamed hotel chic, as if a thousand rooms just like it must exist.
Neat, orderly, even luxurious, but no personality. It looked to be designed by robots instead of human hands. There was an old-fashioned floor lamp in the corner with a red damask lamp shade, a couple of Botticelli prints on the walls, a TV, and a cherry dresser that matched the cherry from the elevator with too much precision to be accidental. A king-sized, four-poster bed with intricately carved scrollwork took up one corner of the room. No mirror. In the space a mirror would have gone was one of the framed Botticelli prints.
Charlee went through her belongings, trying to recognize something. She inhaled the scent of freshly laundered clothes and the faded perfume from a pair of jeans she must have worn once since the last washing.
She sifted through a pile of books she’d brought. Romance. Was she the kind of girl who believed in romance? Or did she read them to mock them? She didn’t know.
She’d hoped contact with one of these objects would trigger a memory and some small piece of who she was would come flooding back, but it didn’t. Her makeup and skincare products, her clothing, her books, all these things were the belongings of a stranger.
Charlee sighed and went to the kitchen to make a mug of hot chocolate. When she returned, she got underneath the covers, and Sammy snuggled in next to her. She dug around in the bag of books until she found the one book that might help, a thick leather volume she’d found beside her bed. Her journal.
Chapter Six
The all-night diner’s blue flashing neon sign was missing letters. It was supposed to say, “Spare Ribs on Sale, half off.” Instead, it said, “Spare Ribs on off.” Quite confusing for anyone newly literate.
Inside, the diner was as run down as it was outside. The centerpiece was the fading Formica counter tops with retro chrome edging. Only it wasn’t retro. The diner had been there, nestled underneath a giant hackberry tree when retro was new and improved, or at least new. Spinning bar stools that creaked when you tried to swivel on them were bolted into the floor running the length of the counter. The pale blue vinyl covering had faded even lighter over the intervening years.
The place was dead tonight, as it was most nights. The only reason it was kept open was that the varied and sundry preternaturals of Cary Town preferred to take their late night meetings here. For therians, the third shift cook, Al, made a great rare steak. For Anthony, the place was just close and convenient when another of his kind dropped in unannounced.
Even without Charlotte there, he wouldn’t have wanted Linus in his personal space. The Cary Town Luxury Apartments at one time had been a vampires-only establishment. In fact, the place had been cloaked so only vampires noticed it was there.
Then management changed hands and they got the brilliant idea to integrate humans into the clientele. Perhaps with the perverse mission of having humans on tap for vampires too lazy to go out hunting, Anthony was never sure, but it seemed to him that over the years the place had gotten more human-friendly and less vampire-friendly.
Some rooms had full windows installed, though all nocturnal residents were assured it was special glass that prevented even the slightest bit of UV radiation to penetrate. Anthony still preferred the darkness and had refused the better windows in his rooms.
The most telling change had been the mirrors in the lobby. Vampires didn’t avoid mirrors because they cast no reflection, quite the contrary. It was once believed by the superstitious commoners that mirrors didn’t reflect the person, but the soul. No soul, no reflection. The villagers had been half right.
