"I'll assume that means no other stories with cannibalistic undertones," he said, knowing me well enough to understand why I found the story so unpleasant. With a thoughtful look, Joe moved to sit at the end of the bed, sliding back so he could rest against the wall. "How about The Taming of the Shrew?" I stuck my tongue out at him. He laughed.
I blinked as something hinted at my mind. "I like Shakespeare." Drawing in a shaky breath, I wet my lips with my tongue. "Not that one though."
He nodded. "Do you remember Romeo and Juliet?" I nibbled at my lip and he shrugged. "Well, it's one of the more famous ones. I'll tell you that one. It might jog your memory, and, since I'm such a lousy story teller, it's guaranteed to put you to sleep."
I wanted to smile, to laugh, but I resisted the urge. Letting my body sink heavily into the mattress, I watched Joe's eyes take on a far-off look, like he was trying to figure out where to start.
"Well, once upon a time . . . ." He winked at me, and I knew my eyes shone in response because he seemed much more at ease when he continued. "There were these two families—the Montagues and the Capulets. The head of each family was a powerful man, sort of like a don. These men were enemies, and so their families were enemies.
When they met on the street, there would be fights over stupid stuff. The first one mentioned is because one guy bit his thumb at another. I can only assume back then, biting your thumb was like giving someone the finger today."
The sound of Joe's voice as he recounted the story was soothing. As I lay still, the pain began to subside, and I knew sleep would come. At first, I fought it, enjoying Joe's obvious twist on the tale— très drole with his quirky comments—but the needs of my body won out. Still, even though I regretted not hearing the end of the story, I was satisfied. I'd taken some of the weight of guilt from Joe, a weight our captors would use to break him.
Before, I hadn't thought I had the power to thwart them. Now, I knew I did.
* * * * *
I felt the wind, actually felt it. Standing tall, I held out my arms, turning around and around, letting the flow of it surround me, breathing deep to let it fill me. Joe chuckled nearby.
"You keep turning like that, and you're gonna fall."
I stopped turning and caught my breath. I was standing at the edge of a rocky cliff. With an exaggerated little shriek, I threw myself into Joe's arms.
"Can we stay here, Joe?" I looked up at him.
Joe smiled. "Sure." He kissed my forehead and stepped back, reaching behind him to pull out a sword. "As soon as we kill them all."
My hand tightened around something, and I looked down to see that I held a sword in my white-knuckled grasp. "Kill them. Yes, I like that idea very much."
Joe's hand was suddenly on my shoulder, his grip almost painful. "You need practice, Lydia. You have the skill, but it's buried, deep within. You can practice here, but you'll have to give up digging for memories. Your past is like a scrapbook in a house that's gone up in flames.
A sad loss, but you survived. Be grateful."
I closed my eyes and rolled my shoulders. I could feel the truth of his words. Either my body would remember, or my mind would. For some reason, I couldn't have both.
"But I won't be here forever. I have a life . . . somewhere . . . ."
"Your mind was damaged, love." Joe circled me, trailing his fingers through my hair.
"The life you had is worth nothing if you can't fight for your freedom. You can start again. If you live."
The lure of memories teased at the back of my consciousness. Family, friends, other nameless faces hovering in the darkest reaches of my mind.
"Are you ready to say 'goodbye' to them?" Joe stood behind me, rubbing his hands down my arms, a gentle comfort. He knew the sacrifice wouldn't be easy.
I turned and let him hold me as I nodded. A sob broke out, and the warmth of tears spilled down my cheeks. "I'm ready."
Joe pressed his fingers under my chin, drawing me up for a kiss. The faces hovering in the dark were gone. There was nothing left, nothing but a slow buzz that began flowing through me, twitching my muscles. Focus overcame all. With fierce discipline, I pushed back the sadness.
There was no room for regret. Like a fire within, a new drive burst to life. I heard a voice, deep, warm, somehow kind and stern at once. "Uncontrolled thoughts steal focus, Lydia. You must not let them slip, anymore than you would let slip your hold on balance."
Had I made a different choice, I would have known the face behind the voice. But something told me that, had I made a different choice, I would have disappointed that unknown person. I'd been taught better, and I had done what I must. I knew, somewhere deep within, he would have been proud.
A sword came at me and, without thinking, I brought up my own to block it.
Joe smirked at me over our crossed swords. "Are you done with self-pity? You've been lazy. You have a lot of work to do."
I was tempted to argue, but, instead, I shook my head and laughed. "Yeah. I'm done." I drew my sword back and turned swiftly, swinging too fast for him to do more than jump back out of my reach. "You're going to wish I wasn't."
Chapter Eight
"I think she's awake."
The youthful voice sounded excited. I woke with a groan, pushing myself up, ignoring the complaint of my stiff muscles straining under fragile skin. Then I opened my eyes. And stared.
What the hell is a kid doing in here? But after a few quick blinks, I realized she wasn't a kid. Not really. Her body had soft curves; her breasts were a little larger than mine. I could tell from her face that she was quite a bit younger than I was. Her cheeks were still plump with baby fat, and the dark, rich color of her perfectly smooth skin added to her youthful look. The sparkle in her wide, mocha-colored eyes topped it off.
I threw my legs over the side of the bed. My body didn't like it, but I knew, somehow, I was ready. "Joe?"
He came immediately to my side. "Lydia, you should lie down. You aren't strong enough."
I pulled my arm from his gentle hold and took his hand. "I'll be okay. Trust me. I just need to take it slow." I looked at the table, judging the distance. "Help me walk to the table. I'll sit there for a bit, and then walk back."
Joe opened his mouth, then closed it and frowned. I finally got through to him with my steady, patient gaze. With a sigh, he helped me to my feet, taking more of my weight than I wanted, but not arguing, which was all I could ask.
The girl hovered at my other side, hand out toward me as though she both thought I would fall and wanted to help. She settled for following my slow progress to the table.
It took me a ridiculously long time to cover the short distance to the table, but, once I had settled into the chair--the pain of my freshly mended body still present but bearable--I gave in to a moment of pride. A brief moment. Resting my elbow on the table and my head on one hand, I turned to the girl. "What's your name?" I sounded rude. Abrupt. God, I sounded just like Joe.
She didn't seem to mind. "Mary." She fidgeted with hem of her white dress for a few moments. Then she finally flew forward, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around my waist. "I'm so happy you're all right, Lydia. Joe was so worried. I don't know what he would have done if you had died."
Patting the girl's head awkwardly, I looked at Joe, hoping for some kind of explanation.
Joe shrugged. "She's been here for a bit. We're all she had. She got attached."
His explanation made no sense. Her attachment to him, being stuck here for God-knows-how-long while I was out of commission, I could understand. But me?
"How could she get attached to me? I was out cold!"
Standing with a little bounce, Mary gave Joe a brilliant smile. "He talked about you all the time. I knew he wouldn't if you weren't wonderful."
I arched a brow at Joe. Much as I liked the idea, I couldn't see him going on about me.
He cleared that right up. "Mary asks a lot of questions. More than you ever did. I don't think it's been quiet here for mor
e than a second since she came." It sounded like a complaint, but Joe's fond smile aimed at the girl made it clear he hadn't minded the distraction at all.
I wondered if I should be jealous. I felt nothing. It was a little frightening. What if the sacrifice in the dream had included my ability to feel anything? What if the bond that had grown between Joe and me before I'd been wounded had died because I'd turned cold?
Joe touched my face to get my attention. "Are you alright?"
I lifted my hand and pressed it against the back of his. Then I gazed up into his eyes. The concern I saw there made me smile and nod. I still cared enough not to want Joe to worry needlessly.
"I'm fine." I had nothing to add, so I changed the subject. "Did you ever finish the story? I don't remember."
Joe opened his mouth. Mary spoke before he could say a word. "Which one? He told you Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet, and Othello." She grinned. "He got all the points right on, but I've never heard them told like that. He made it a lot more interesting than the way Mr. Knowling broke them down."
"Mr. Knowling?" Getting a headache from the way the girl bounced in place, I looked at the bowl before me, picked up the spoon beside it, and poked at the colorless mess.
"My English teacher." Mary stepped around the table, knelt again, and folded her arms on the table, resting her chin on her hands. "He had a droning voice that made everyone fall asleep. Except for Edward. He would always sit there going 'Oh! Oh!'" She held her hand up high to indicate what Edward had obviously done. "It was really annoying."
I ate as Mary continued to talk, casting odd glances at Joe who was sitting on the bed, back against the wall, one knee bent with his arm rested on it. He looked content just watching us.
When I finally figured it out, my headache subsided. Mary's addition to our dreary little cell was like an injection of life. She was sweet and bubbly, and, rather than being irritated by it, Joe was enjoying the change of pace. Just as he had when I had come on the scene.
This time, the implication didn't leave me unfazed. I focused on Mary and sat up.
My eyes narrowed as I stared at her face. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but my stare made her clamp her lips together and turn to Joe.
"Lydia." Joe said my name with a sharp authority.
Brow lifted, I set an angry gaze on him. "What?"
Joe pushed off the bed and waved Mary back. Head bowed, the girl went to the corner as though she'd been given a time-out. I watched her for a minute and bit my lip to keep from laughing when she crossed her arms and pouted, bracing her hip against the wall.
Her protruding lower lip made her look much younger, which made me scowl at Joe. "She's a kid."
Joe put one hand on the table and bent down, speaking low. "You're being ridiculous, Lydia." He reached out to take my hand. I jerked out of reach and hissed. He grabbed for my hand again. This time, I didn't move. "You're jealous; that's sweet. But that girl has done nothing to earn your wrath, so, if you have suspicions, lash out at me with them. Not her."
I crossed one arm across my chest, knowing he wouldn't release my hand. "I'm not jealous." Joe's lip quivered. I realized suddenly I must look as sulky as Mary.
Dropping my arm, I sighed. "Look, I don't know how I feel about it. Hell, I shouldn't hold it against you even if you . . . ." I looked at the bed, recalling now that I'd been immobile on it for a long time. I wondered absently if they'd done it on the dirty floor.
Maybe up against the wall . . . .
Joe gave my hand a little squeeze. "We didn't. I have no interest in bedding children. And . . . ." Joe closed his mouth and shook his head.
"And?" I prompted.
"Nothing." He continued before I could press. "Look, the point is I won't willingly sleep with her. But you have to know, Lydia—" His eyes met mine. "I won't let her die to avoid it either. I can't do that. Not again."
A thick pool of guilt poured cold down my throat and into my gut. I reached over and took his other hand, then tried to stand. Freeing his hands, he put them under my elbows and helped me to my feet. "Joe, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . . ." I glanced at Mary who tugged at her lip with her teeth, her eyes pleading, as though afraid I would cast her out. "Damn it. I'm sorry."
Joe pulled me into his arms, holding me carefully, laying a kiss on my hair. "It's okay." He guided me back to the bed. Easing me down, he sat beside me, then pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. "Like I said." His breath moved like a warm caress over my face.
"It's sweet."
I wrinkled my nose at him, sighed, and looked at Mary. When I waved her over, she approached slowly, hands clutched to her white skirt, head down.
I sighed again. "Mary, look. I apologize for how I acted. Apparently, I can be a real bitch."
With a dimpled grin, Mary lifted her head. I noticed that the light cast a lovely golden glow off her dark skin. Her tiny black braids bounced on her shoulders as she plopped onto the bed. I grimaced as my tender body bounced.
Mary gasped and covered her mouth. "Oops." I waved off the forthcoming apology. Smiling, she took my hand. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Lydia." Her eyes went to Joe, then back to me. "Joe told me about the amnesia thing. Maybe it's not permanent.
I had a friend once who got so drunk she didn't remember what day it was. She was fine the next day—"
"Mary, it's not the same." Joe frowned at her, with an expression that clearly said
"Shut up."
Mary must have missed it. "I've read stuff about memory loss. Well, actually I saw something in a movie once." She paused as though trying to remember. "Anyway, it only took the right cue to start it all coming back. Maybe the right questions. Like, I don't know, did you have a kitten?"
"A kitten?" Joe asked before I could.
I opened my mouth to speak. Apparently, my input wasn't needed.
"Yeah. I had a kitten. She was a pretty little calico named Mr. Spot. I didn't know he was a she. Anyway, she got hit by a car last year. I'm sure if I got amnesia, thinking about her would help." She took a breath, looked at me expectantly, and then barreled on when I gave Joe a helpless look.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
Joe and I snapped our attention back to her.
"What about music? I like R&B. Not the old stuff, though. Do you like R&B?"
"Mary." Joe and I said in unison.
Mary kept talking. I started to wonder whether her nerves were making her prattle on this way, and I hoped her chattiness was temporary. Then again, if it were a nervous habit, she would be doing it a lot here.
"Mary!"
At Joe's shout, Mary stopped. Bottom lip trembling, she stared at him, wide-eyed. Joe seemed ready to rebuke her, but her tearful gaze melted him. Forcing a smile, he patted her arm. "Take it easy. Lydia just woke up. Just give her some time."
"But if I . . . ." Mary grabbed his hand with a look of entreaty. I started to feel bad for her. The kid really just wanted to help.
"My memory is gone for good, Mary." I almost groaned at her and Joe's shocked looks. The horror in their eyes told me neither would let the issue go easily. I fought to bring a semblance of order to my thoughts. "I need to leave it all behind me." I lifted my hand to stop Mary's protest. "I don't expect you to understand. But I need you to accept it."
Joe clenched his jaw, features set hard. He gave a curt nod. "If that's what you need."
I took a deep breath. The air felt heavy with the grim topic, and I desperately needed to clear it. "So, what have you guys been doing to pass the time?"
Predictably, Mary leapt on the opportunity to talk. "Not much. Joe tried to get me to exercise. He does it all the time. Can you believe it? Me doing pushups! Not likely.
Do you do pushups?" She didn't wait for my answer. "Anyway, he was with you like every other second. He took really good care of you."
I felt my eyelids grow heavy as both Joe and I let her ramble. Joe put his arm around me, and I snuggled against him, lazily letting myself drift away. It was very clear now why Jo
e didn't mind Mary. She made very pleasant background noise.
After a few days, I realized there was more to Mary than I'd assumed. And that I'd been right about her talkativeness being a nervous habit. Not to say she stopped filling the silence with conversation, but once she got past her fear, she proved a better listener. And less of an airhead.
Particularly rapid spills of words came with sudden bouts of nerves. Which was never more obvious than the night we were served a thick, rich, beef stew.
Mary was singing, which I enjoyed much more than her idle chatter. She had a beautiful voice and a range that amazed me. Despite her claims of only liking R&B, she knew a vast array of songs, some moving, some haunting. The one she sang that day was sad, so sad I had to fight back tears.
My emotional discipline didn't stand a chance against the heart-rending sound of Mary's voice.
The song was called The Christmas Shoes. Mary said she'd decided to sing it because she had been captured around Christmastime. I wondered why she couldn't choose a happy Christmas song, but, on second thought, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. At just the mention of the holiday, darkness that passed through her eyes like a ghost. Joe and I did our best to avoid the topic.
The slight tightening of her tone at the word "mother," as though it was hard to get out, clued me in. Tears were spilling down her face by the third time she sang the lyrics "Daddy says there's not much time." Her voice faltered and faded away.
Poor thing, I thought to myself, she must miss her parents.
Probably very true, but that wasn't what had stopped her singing.
When Mary had been silent for a while, Joe sat up from his slouch on the bed. I followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed. Two large bowls of stew sat on the table, steam rising from them, letting off a mouth-watering aroma that made my skin grow cold.
"Beef stew." I made a face, not out of distaste for the food, but from my awareness of why that particular meal had been chosen.
"Not stew. It's boeuf bourguignon." Mary took a hesitant step toward the table.
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