Twin Flames: Soul Memory

by Alix Richards

  “You will want to put some ice on that, señorita, to counter the swelling.” The cabby opened the backdoor and helped her out, his hand remaining on her elbow as if to reassure himself she wasn’t about to topple over.

  “That is my plan, señor, thank you for your concern.” She smiled and handed over the bills she dug from her purse.

  Joy got the impression the older man was reluctant to release her, but he did and returned to his taxi. The valet assisted with her bags and she turned to face the ocean, only about a mile from where she stood.

  I will have the funding for my club, and Jairo and I will be together. My mother was wrong. People can know each other instantly without ever having met in person first, because we did.

  Uncertainty flowed through her body as she turned away from the picturesque view. Doubt doubled and tripled until Joy thought for sure she would drown in sadness. She inhaled to settle what trampled over her happiness, refusing to acknowledge it was anything other than her nerves about the pending business meeting.

  Are you worthy to have a love as profound as what Jairo feels for you?

  The sharp stab of fear pierced her heart. She told herself it was just the physical distance between them and nothing more. Joy was worth everything Jairo felt for her, she was. It had nothing to do with conceit and everything to do with what she knew deep down as right and true.

  She pressed those concerns back and stepped forward through the double doors of the hotel.

  Her future included a wonderful man and her dream coming into reality.

  What more could she wish for?

  Joy brushed the abrasion at her temple with her fingertips. Something didn’t feel right.

  Chapter Two

  Her hand tightened on the telephone receiver. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” a friendly feminine voice responded. “You arrived two days ago and signed the register as Joy Lyons-Morgan. We have your photo ID and credit card here on file.”

  “Was…was there anything—strange about my appearance?” She gritted her teeth.

  I’ve been here for two days? Did I sleep yesterday away?

  “You had a nasty bruise on your cheek and above your eye.” A pause, and then, “I inquired about EMT services but you declined. You laughed and said it was nothing. That you hit your head when you got into the taxi at Miami International.”

  She touched the goose egg above her eyebrow, her cheek nearly unblemished now.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Miss Lyons-Morgan?” Concern laced the receptionist’s voice. It brought tears to Joy’s eyes. She did not remember hitting her head.

  “Yes, yes.” She swiped at the moisture. “I’m fine. Thank you for your help.”

  Joy replaced the phone. Her attention focused on her finger, the ring, noticing the play of light on the facets. Who gave it to her?

  She straightened and turned sideways to get a better look in the mirror. Then loosened the belt of the terry robe she wore, letting the material fall to bare her back. An elaborate double bow and arrow tattoo on the left and a scorpion with a rosebud for a stinger graced the spot between her shoulder blades.

  Why can’t I remember getting them? Why did I choose them? When were they done?

  Joy knelt, picked up her purse, and dumped the contents on the floor. Spreading the items with her fingers, she snatched up a wallet and flipped it open. She lifted out a driver’s license and let the rest fall.

  Her eyes narrowed as she brought the official document close. The state issued it to a five foot four inch tall Joy Lyons-Morgan. Her gaze moved to the picture, her mind remained blank.

  The photo reflected eyes of a pale hue, the tiny replicated features appeared crystal, and light sandy-colored hair. She glanced at her reflection. A stranger looked back, the likeness of the two undeniable.

  Was this really her? Was she Joy Lyons-Morgan?

  Who in the hell is Joy Lyons-Morgan anyway?

  Making a face, she pushed the waist-length wavy tresses back. What woman would keep strands so long? She had no idea. Was it by her desire or her love for a man erased from her memory?

  “Dammit! Who the hell are you?”

  She glared at the mirror on the closet doors and noticed the shift in her pupils. She froze. Her heart thundered in her ears and her breath caught.

  I’m imaging things. She dropped down on the bed and gripped the edges of her robe closed with a single hand. Her throat ached and she inhaled. She sighed and flopped back, staring at the ceiling. Since she was in a hotel, she assumed she did not live in this city.

  So why am I here? Where in the hell do I come from?

  She rolled to her side and reached over the edge. Lifting the license, her gaze settled on the permanent address. Joy belonged in Wyoming. Then why was she in Miami, Florida?

  Pressure built in her temples and the piece of plastic fluttered from her fingers. She seemed to repeat the same exercise. Questions, denial, unrelenting blank memory, followed by a piercing headache. Nothing gave her an ounce of recall or prevented the pain.

  Blinking, she glanced at the laptop beside the emptied purse. That piece of electronics yielded yet another challenge. She swallowed a groan. No password protected it and some of the information it held made her ask more questions.

  So why was she afraid to delve further?

  One file titled “Jairo” actually brought tears to her eyes. Moisture blurred her vision and she shut out what lay before her. She couldn’t keep looking at the items when they gave her nothing but heartache and pain.

  Joy moved to the floor, sat crossed legged, and picked up the contents, replacing them in the purse. A leather-bound ledger sticking out from beneath the skirt of the bed caught her attention, and she reached for it. The pages flapped open to the center, the words no more than a blob through her tears.

  Those journal entries only hinted at the person called Joy. It gave no answers to her growing list of questions. Sighing, she closed the book and placed it in the bag.

  My purse. Everything here is mine. Maybe if she repeated it often enough it’d stick.

  “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” She snorted and slouched against the bed, noticing the cell phone out of the corner of her eye. She’d discovered it earlier, not locked and full of more information about Joy.

  Who is this over-trusting Joy Lyons-Morgan person?

  She reached for the small device. Tapped her nail on the waiting screen and bit her bottom lip, scrolling through the alphabetized names.

  On a whim, she touched the pad next to “Mom.” Holding the phone to her ear, she listened to the ringing. Heart pounding, threatening to escape its confines, she inhaled. A computerized voice answered and Joy grinded her teeth. This was the second time she called the numbers marked under “family” and no one picked up.

  Her eyes closed as a sharp pain struck her temple, the phone slipped from her hand. Heart aching and head throbbing, she curled into the fetal position. The hurt stole her breath. She rubbed her breastbone.

  Then Joy saw him behind closed eyelids. She knew him as he knew her. She held the image of his smiling face. He whispered one phrase, in a language unknown to her, over and over…

  Te amo. Siempre te amare. Tu eres mi vida, mi ser.

  When she could think without agony, she’d enter the words into a search engine and figure out their meaning, where they came from.

  * * * *

  The smell of antiseptic filled Jairo ‘Jay’ Silverthorne’s nostrils as he fought to open his eyes. Unfamiliar voices fluttered around him, stating he was not among family or friends.

  Then where the fuck am I?

  He tried to lift his hand, to motion he could hear them, but nothing he did moved the appendage from his side. His body was laden and heavy, a dull throb echoed through his head.

  His darkened eyelids brightened, had someone opened the shades?

  A faint blip signaled a machine nearby, but drowned out the words of those speaking. With carefu
l ease, he tuned his feline hearing away from the electronic sound and to the people talking.

  “I can’t explain why your brother isn’t awake, Miss Silverthorne.”

  “None of the tests say why?”

  He was not completely among strangers.

  “No, I’m sorry.” The rustle of paper crackled. “His CT and MRI all came back normal. There is nothing abnormal about his condition.”

  “There has to be a reason, Doctor.” Warm fingers touched his hand. “If his concussion wasn’t that severe then he should be awake.”

  The concern in his sister’s voice brought a lump to his throat. Jairo knew Jezzaray loved him, always had, even after all the shit he pulled. To hear pain actually lacing her words, hurt.

  He hated being the reason behind the hurt in those he loved, and who loved him in return.

  “The brain deals with injuries in its own way.” Papers shuffled. “Of the body we know the least about the brain. I have seen some who should have died, survive, and others died from injuries that weren’t dire. It all hedges on the individual person.”

  “So something is keeping Jay locked inside his mind?” The hand clenched and then released his. “How can we find out what’s keeping him in a coma?”

  There was silence, the type that said more than words could.

  “I do not have that answer. Only your brother does.”

  Jairo tried again to show he could hear them, to no avail. His body remained unresponsive to his commands.

  “As soon as he’s stable I would like him transferred to our home country.”

  Thank the gods. I’ll be back on Calanthian soil. He sensed more than knew he wasn’t in the island nation of his birth. Happiness filled Jairo at being among family and friends again.

  Why had he left to begin with?

  “I can’t say when that would be viable.”

  “Doctor, you tell me his concussion has healed and he should be awake, yet he’s not. I have a job to get back to, and our family doesn’t live in the United States. We need him with us. He can be monitored at the hospital there just as well as here.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  A light sniffle blasted his eardrums like a gunshot. His sister was crying. The sound sank in the pit of his stomach. He ached, knowing he was the reason behind her tears.

  Now she is gonna kick my lily ass when I do wake up. And I deserve it.

  The external voices faded away as darkness called.

  * * * *

  In the shadows of his mind a movie played out, he saw a young petite woman in a pair of faded jeans with rips in the knees and back thigh. A red bandana looped through where a belt should be and a man’s tank top covered her chest.

  A short bulky man yelled at her, shaking a fist near her face. She didn’t flinch, but shouted back. Her silvery eyes blazed anger and hands clenched at her sides. Her stance said she prepared to fight.

  From somewhere inside his mind, Jairo knew she wouldn’t.

  They stood in a ruby carpeted room with red, white, and blue pinstriped wallpaper. One section of the ceiling sloped at an angle. He did not recognize the place or furniture, but something bespoke of it being a recollection.

  A piece of his memory?

  He remembered years earlier, a nightmare where the same actions played out and he awoke bathed in sweat, shaking with fear for the female’s life. At the time he dreamt, Jairo hadn’t known her name, only her features.

  Did he know her name now? Nothing answered.

  His pulse raced as their motions repeated what he’d seen years before. He knew what would happen prior to its reenactment.

  The man’s beefy fingers curved and one shackled itself around her slender throat. She didn’t make a sound as her mouth opened and her eyes widened.

  A thin watery line trailed from the corner of her eyes and her nails dug at the hand.

  Jairo watched helpless as the bastard lifted her by the neck and thrust her toward the wall. The man stopped once she was against the surface and her feet dangled above the carpet.

  His heart thundered as his canines lengthened in his fury at being powerless to stop the unfolding events. What he saw had already transpired, a part of the past. Reliving the moment he realized she could hear him if he whispered directly to her.

  In his mind, he said what he had then. Te amo. Siempre te amare. Tu eres mi vida, mi ser.

  The words in his native Spanish sounded more beautiful than the English version. He didn’t know if he could speak the same words in the language she spoke fluently.

  Her skin molted in color from the loss of oxygen, still no sound escaped…only tears.

  The asshole tipped her chin back, cutting her air intake even more, and her jaw opened farther. He was killing her and from the sheer enjoyment in his eyes, the sick bastard got off on it.

  “One day I will fucking kill you, you filthy whore.” He bounced her head against the wall.

  Jairo swallowed the growl, knowing what happened next, but unable to prevent it. He was just a bystander in a nightmare, like before.

  The man, who at the time had been her boyfriend, pulled her off the wall and threw her across the room, as he would a used towel. She landed in a heap, coughing and gasping for breath, holding her neck.

  Something told him she had lived through it, but he refused to leave her alone. Even when the bastard gripped her upper arm tight and turned her over, his fist ready to deliver the punch Jairo knew would knock her senseless, he remained vigilant.

  When the meaty knuckles connected with the side of her jaw he saw her eyes roll back and her head loll to the side. What came next violently sickened him.

  The man, who swore he loved her more than his own life, raped her barely conscious body. Not caring of the damage he wrought, only wanting to sate his perverted pleasure.

  She turned her head to the side, looking directly at Jairo. He saw the tears stream down her cheeks. Her body rocked to an unnatural rhythm, but she didn’t make a sound.

  The grunting and groaning came from the male on top as he spent his seed inside her unresisting body. Jairo kept his focus on her, to give her hope and strength.

  “I love you baby.” He whispered the words, praying she heard him. “I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

  She bit her bottom lip so hard blood seeped, and he reached to wipe the wound. He encountered empty space. He couldn’t interact.

  He clenched his hand into a fist and ground his teeth. Why couldn’t he protect the woman he loved?

  Startled at the revelation, he eased back. He loved her? The unfamiliar sensations flowing through him bespoke what he hadn’t known. He did love her, more than his own life.

  They were one in the same person. Twin Flames…recognition at the soul level.

  The warmth of that profound truth wrapped itself around his heart and settled the rage beating at him for being powerless. He’d focus instead on keeping her alive.

  When the asshole finished, she curled onto her side, drawing her knees up, the bottom half of her body naked. Her boyfriend straightened his clothes and nudged her with his toe.

  “Don’t ever deny me what belongs to me.” He left the room.

  Jairo lay down beside her on the floor, his gaze following the motion of her breathing. Her eyes didn’t blink, they stared unseeing straight through him. She wrapped her arms around her midsection as her body shook.

  Her tears continued to flow. His heart ached as he tried again to touch her. Nothing.

  “I can see you.” Her voice strangled, rough and raspy. “Why? Why’d you make me fight? I wanted it to end, but you wouldn’t let me, why?”

  “Because I love you, you are my life, my soul. Without you, I don’t exist.” There was no discomfort or fear at saying the words aloud, just an utter calming peace.

  Her eyes closed and more moisture leaked out. When she opened them, a stubborn determination reflected inside and recognition he himself
had only just discovered.

  She recognized him, it reflected in her gaze. The air caught in his lungs at the beauty of the knowledge. Divine mates were still being matched and she was the living proof.

  “I will fight for you. I promise I will fight for you,” she whispered.

  The tips of her fingers caressed his jaw and across his lips, hers quaked as silent sobs racked her frame. He felt her warm flesh on his.

  “Shhh, baby, I’m here.” Jairo’s dream form wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as she shook. “I’m not going anywhere…ever.”

  * * * *

  The image of the woman faded, leaving him questioning his mental state. Something about her called to him. He sensed he knew her.

  Her identity taunted him, but he was locked inside his body and mind.

  No one could hear him.

  Chapter Three

  Joy’s heart thundered as her hand went to her throat and she sat up. Tendrils of the nightmare lingered around the edges of the sleep haze. At one time, she had been a victim of abuse. Still wrapped in the robe, the sash tight, she rubbed her face and attempted to calm her breathing.

  A man comforted her during those moments of terror. Who is he?

  She came up blank, had nothing to work with. How was any of this possible?

  Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stood and walked into the bathroom. With the light on, she surveyed her features once more. Still no recognition, she swallowed a sob.

  “Who are you?”

  No answer. She snarled and punched the sink. Pain shot up her arm. She continued to glare at her reflection. Fury raced to boiling and air hissed through clenched teeth. Would she ever know herself?

  Her pupils shifted, elongated to that of a feline. What am I?

  Joy slammed her fist into the silvery surface. Glittery pieces splintered and shards fell. Instead of one solid image, thousands of smaller fractured ones reproduced her features. Broken, like her mind. She glanced down as heat spread through her knuckles. Sharp glass embedded deep in each digit and blood flowed freely from the lacerations. Both hands held similar wounds.