Excruciating. This was the worst possible scenario, although everything made sense. She looked down—green owl socks, the exact same outfit she’d worn to the Green Palace. Emma in her beige attire and red scarf, Sam in her dark leather pants and tank top, defying February like a true Kraken. Except Emma had left the Green Palace in her bronze Jaguar and Sam only gave yours truly a lift.
Zoey’s eyes moved from Sam to Emma. They shared the same look—like mothers awaiting to hear “momma” for the first time, like they were somehow looking for confirmation, anything to prove Zoey didn’t in fact lose her mind tripping down the stairs.
“I know that.” Zoey bit her lip. “I just had a very vivid dream about my neighbor while I was out.” She shrugged sheepishly and bolted for the door. “Let me just check if he’s ok!”
“It’s 12:30 a.m., Zoey!” Emma checked her watch.
“He lives alone and he’s not old.” This was one of those moments she didn’t care for Emma’s mothering side.
Emma got up, half puzzled. “I’ll go with her. Make it quick, that ambulance is gonna be here any minute.”
Zoey twisted the knob with a trembling hand and tried to look normal. It was damn hard since her heart was in her throat. Panting. Knocking on her insides like angry neighbors at pipes. She took the stairs down as fast as she could, followed by Emma and arriving breathless at Jasper’s door. She stopped short.
Breathe, Zoey…
“Um, maybe you should knock?” Emma was taking mental notes of everything to tell the paramedics.
Zoey nodded and pressed her finger to the buzzer. She’d never heard the sound of it before and she sure as heck had no clue what to expect. He’d vanished before her eyes and it hurt her insides to relive it—but couldn’t keep the thoughts away. It played like a continuous scene in her head.
Jasper…She sighed and heard footsteps approaching with a mix of fear and anticipation. And worry. All at once.
By the sound of it, they were first scanned through the peephole followed by the universal sound of unlocking a wooden door.
“Am I expecting a leak from upstairs?” A hoarse lady voice came from the small crack. It was late, the light was not working on her floor, and Zoey’s light from the 3rd floor was definitely not enough to see her face.
“My name is Zoey, I’m your neighbor from upstairs. I was wondering if there’s a neighbor called Jasper in our building—mid-twenties, tall, athletic, sandy blonde hair.” There was no reply, so she continued, “He always wears waistcoats…”
The lady’s voice came abrupt. “Zoey, I’ve known you ever since you moved here but just because I’ve lived here for the past twenty-five years doesn’t mean you should come to me whenever they send you someone else’s mail. You’re lucky I never sleep!” She opened the door wide enough for Zoey to register a face she’d never seen before.
The woman was well in her sixties, a fluffy pink robe adorned with white dots covering her full figure. “Come in.” She gestured and made her way inside, where she’d left a lit cigarette in a shell-shaped ashtray. “Emmanuel kept me up all night.” They soon walked in to see that Emmanuel was not her grandchild but one of her many cats.
“Whose mail did you get now?” she asked, mildly pestered.
“Um…it just says Jasper, no last name. But I’ve seen him in the building.” She lied better than she expected considering her throbbing head situation.
“You know, when you bought the apartment from that divorced French couple—I had quite a number of young gentlemen parading by my door asking if the missus had moved out.”
When I—bought the apartment? I BOUGHT the apartment?!
“I of course know she had many lovers throughout her marriage—she nearly made love to one of them on my door, I had to pluck his hairs out of my peephole with a tweezer after the fun they had! And the husband, rickety-bop upstairs typing away at one of his bestsellers—curious people, the French…”
Emma nudged Zoey as she heard ambulance noises downstairs.
“Sorry, do you perhaps know where I could find this Jasper?” Anxiety hung on every syllable. Time was running out for Zoey. The lady grabbed her phone and seemed to be looking. “Um, do you maybe have his number?”
What a stupid, stupid question. Jasper didn’t have a number. He had kalenium and intersats and all the rest but nothing resembling a phone.
“I don’t know any Jasper in the building, but I was looking for a picture I got the other day of a cat that got lost in the neighborhood…here it is!” She turned the phone around for both Zoey and Emma to get a clear look at the black and white cat. “His name is Felix, if you see him ’round, let me know.”
“Thank you so much, we’ll be out of your hair now.” Emma sprinted toward the door and watched Zoey say an awkward goodbye before she rushed her up the stairs.
“Get your ass in here!” It meant to come out as a mere whisper but Sam was anything but discreet when she called from the top of the stairs.
Two paramedics awaited, arms crossed, as Emma apologetically greeted them on her way in.
“My name is Emma and this is Zoey—the reason we called you. As I said on the phone, we went out together tonight and after dropping Zoey, we found her scarf in the car, so we immediately went after her. The front door was open so we took the elevator to the 3rd floor and when she didn’t respond to our knocks, we called and heard the phone ringing on the second floor, where we found her unconscious, face-up. She must have taken the stairs and took quite the fall because she woke up only ten minutes ago extremely confused, talking gibberish, and…” she turned to look at her, “sorry, Zoey—she even asked what day it was. By the looks of it, I’m guessing concussion with medium risk for brain injury—so maybe a CT just to make sure?”
The two paramedics eyed each other as if they were in on an inside joke. The amount of people telling them how to do their job must have been something, but Emma was someone who took control and didn’t leave anything to chance. Sam, on the other hand, was clever enough not to get her hands dirty when she didn’t swim in waters she knew.
A medical flashlight was jabbed in Zoey’s eye while she sat on the good stool at the kitchen counter. A number of questions followed: name, age, medication, alcohol intake, what year it was, what she did yesterday. She answered all their questions with one primal thought on her mind—what the heck happened in Pamplona?
“I’m sleeping here tonight, just in case.” Sam folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe.
“Mind if I take the guest bedroom, Zoey?” Emma didn’t feel like returning to an empty home either. The paramedics told Zoey to sleep on it and provided her with two little white pills, instructing Emma to make sure she gave one to Zoey and take one herself just in case. She didn’t know if she had to take it as an insult or they read the worry in her frown.
“It’s been too long since we had a slumber party.” Sam cracked a laugh and went straight for the fridge. It felt good to have the girls close. Better than any white pill. They all gathered around the coffee table, Sam taking up a whole couch in her pristine lounge as Zoey and Emma curled with their legs under themselves on the other couch facing the door.
Zoey held the hot mug in her hands and dared to ask, “Let’s say for argument’s sake that some facts are still fuzzy in my head after my fall today, mind filling in some blanks?”
Emma’s face dropped. She knew it. She knew it loud and clear.
“Shit, Zoey, this is not funny—I’m taking you to the hospital tomorrow morning!”
Sam’s eyes got a little bigger. “I’m open for business—what would you like to know?”
“How did I afford to buy this apartment?” It was out there and she couldn’t take it back.
“You seriously don’t remember?!” Sam curled in a sitting position. She was so much like a cat, from the way she stretched to her undeniable curiosity.
Zoey shook her head. “Nope.”
“I’ve watched this on TV so many times and her
e I am, my first-ever experience telling an amnesic person—”
Emma was quick to burst her bubble. “You won the lottery last year! Then your moms chipped in a little too and you’re now living the dream.”
“Huh.” Lies. She had to find out who was behind these lies.
Sam continued, “Other than that, no picnic—James left you as Carlos left me, and Miss Pencilskirt is getting a divorce.” She raised her mug, seeing Emma rolling her eyes in perfect sync.
“That I know. What else?”
“Hold up!” Emma took a hefty sip of her tea. “How can you forget you won the lottery but remember all of our miserable breakups?” To hell with Frank. “I guess the brain does work in mysterious ways, huh?”
Zoey turned to Sam. “Sam, have I ever been to Pamplona? Have you ever shown me pictures of you and Carlos when you visited?”
“You’ve seen his mother’s house and said it looked tacky, if that counts—cause that’s where the bastard had me for the whole week we were visiting—that glued to his mother’s skirt he was! And you loved the gazebo in the main square—the magnet representation of which I fail to see on your fridge, by the way!” Sam was just warming up. “I know Madrid like the back of my hand. Pamplona, however, I shit you not—we went out alone three times and it was way too close to his mother’s house. I still have nightmares about her popcorn walls and guest bedroom, it was like having all the attendees of the last supper staring at me from every wall!” She cringed as she remembered.
Unlike his grandmother, Carlos’s mother had no notion of personal space and had proceeded to unzip Sam’s luggage and arrange her clothes in the closet on one of the three unfortunate nights Carlos and herself had gone to dinner together. She also had strong feelings about his son not dating a “good Catholic girl,” but instead women who, like Sam, enjoyed a good CrossFit training twice a week. As a retort to their differences of opinion and taste, Sam made it her personal mission to wear the most pornographic of cleavages to Sunday mass, which she was forced to attend and meet the rest of his very loud family, all of whom had strong opinions about many countries they hadn’t visited.
“Well that was a success, wasn’t it?” Emma winked, reading Sam’s face.
“Do you believe in the existence of aliens?” Zoey broke the magic of the moment, leaving the two unsure what to say next.
“Erm…sweetheart, you hit your head, you were not abducted by aliens. This state of confusion is quite common in people with head trauma…” Emma raised an eyebrow and eyed Sam for backup.
“Wait a minute, this is interesting! Why the alien question?”
There was nothing Zoey wanted more than to give a full confession. Except they wouldn’t remember anything, so she chose her next words wisely. “Is Anthony Bush still gay?”
“Now you’re just taking the piss!” Sam gave her infamous eyeroll.
Zoey never kept anything from her friends. Despite the comfort in their laughter and having them close, she just wanted to get back to Paseo Sarasate. It ate at her chest and she could not find the Zen to concentrate on anything else.
Etienne had said the optans were ruffled but alive. She knew nothing. Not one clue on how to find them without her kalenium band. No way to make contact with any of them and nothing to prove that what she remembered was in fact, the truth. She did know they altered timelines, they could make anyone forget except for her, and that was enough to hold onto.
It was 3 a.m. and Zoey couldn’t get any shut-eye. She glanced over at Sam sprawled out on the duvet, mouth open and lost in a deep sleep. She unplugged her phone from the charger and tiptoed her way back to the couch where she spent the next hour googling every imaginable detail about Paseo Sarasate—the only place which actually confirmed her truth with every piece of cobblestone still in place. It couldn’t have been a trick of the mind. It couldn’t possibly.
She turned the light on the extractor hood and took a satisfied breath—at least, 2% felt like satisfaction. Pure worry and anxiety outweighed the glory of those six perfectly placed statues surrounded by trees and benches. The promenade looked intact. As if nothing had ever happened.
There was nothing remotely relevant in the press and she spoke just enough Spanish to get the big picture—damn her high school self for taking Korean instead of Spanish, but the heart wanted what it wanted at that particular point in time.
She scrolled down every piece of news looking for the faintest shred of information until she tossed the phone to her side in despair and wrapped her arms around herself.
What if I can send them a message? The thought made her pick up her phone again in an instant. Her fingers ran desperately, uploading a picture of Paseo Sarasate to Instagram with the caption: “Come back to me. I need to know you’re okay.” And she proceeded to make her profile public, just to make sure—of what, she didn’t exactly know, but her eyes were pinned on it.
Cerebral Eclipse
“The Dory Effect”
She felt all things, staring at the imperfections of her ceiling in a guilt-trance.
Agony as she visualized Lilou’s motionless body rolling out of Jasper’s hold as he was being pulled down to the ground.
Anger at herself for being played like that. At Google for saying that what she was really experiencing was dream-reality confusion. DRC…
DRC my ass!
Despair at not being able to blurt out a single word to those who mattered most, for obvious reasons. Hey, someone actually altered your timelines and wiped your memories to shield you from the fact that my alien ex-boyfriend has killed around forty-two people and mindfucked a few on the side!
Impotence at her dormant enhancements, which she couldn’t access without that shitty kalenium bracelet!
Restlessness because today was supposed to be like any other day prior to her life being turned upside down: walking to school, rethinking scripts for her next classes, flashing an accomplished smile to those brilliant little minds who were supposed to shape the future. What future? The one where Earth’s doom stands hanging on the mere chance of avoiding the next NEO or cosmic disaster?
That aching feeling of her chest getting too small to hold the turmoil within, and at the core of it all—Jasper.
Her heart ripped in her chest at the memory of him, at that broken scream as parts of his shoulders and jaw turned to something in between black smoke and dust. If this was James’s idea of saving her the heartache, he got it fucking wrong. Love wasn’t supposed to be so miserably twisted, and there was no flattery in murdering to save your girlfriend’s planet, no good intention could serve as an excuse.
Optan lies, or omissions of the truth, didn’t paint a great picture either. Jasper knew there was a due date on her planet and never said a word. What’s more, he gave them hope that one day, Earth might even join the Alliance.
She closed her eyes and pushed back the tears, feeling afraid even to think of him too much. Curious thing to feel this type of longing for someone she barely knew, this kind of impatience that pushed all her senses to feel like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And the memory of his arms and eyes and smell.
She touched the hollow of her neck and saw his face. The thought consumed her as she forced herself out of bed and into the madness of today.
Zoey must have slept a total of three hours over the whole weekend trying to fit puzzle pieces together. Somebody knew she couldn’t afford this apartment on her own and would probably move out. Someone wanted her here. Was it James? The Alliance?
She turned her body on autopilot as she showered, dressed, and forced some flakes down. The red tartan dress was the only ironed item in her walk-in closet, so she snatched it without a second thought while checking her bank statement through her app.
What?! There must have been a mistake. A huge mistake. Her savings account rounded up to a five-digit figure. A hefty five-digit figure. An unimaginable amount to have at her age. Why would my moms need to chip in for this apartment when I have all this is m
y bank account? It didn’t make sense.
Shit. She texted Sam as if her life depended on it.
Sam, what do I do for a living?
This was so messed up. So terribly messed up. Her stationery was all there. Her school stuff, her books on contemporary art, everything. Everything but the flower drawing on her fridge where the word “teacher” was scribbled in rainbow colors and trembling lines.
You co-own the falafel place downstairs with Samir. Your morning shift’s about to start, you’d better hurry, chicken!
So much money comes from falafel? Seriously!? My students…
Zoey felt a cannonball stuck in her throat. She’d lived for teaching in her former life—now she owned her own place and sold falafel. Falafel—she didn’t even like it that much, but Samir’s recipe was the best in town and she had it every other Friday.
Gotcha!
Nailed it—not. She grabbed her purse and googled how to prepare falafel on her way down. Falafel—the very word sounded like a bad joke. She wanted to take the stairs just to look at Jasper’s door a little longer.
It took ten steps to reach Samir’s. The place looked exactly like she remembered and she took a moment to stare a little. And a little longer. Long enough for Samir to see her and wave a hand to check if she was in a brain coma. Long enough to take a deep breath and go in like the co-owner that she was.
The door squeaked as the shopkeeper’s bell tinkled. She was in.
Samir flashed a friendly smile as he propped his arms on the counter and she felt her fingers go numb and sweaty.
An awkward smile followed. “Um…good morning, Samir!” Do I get behind the counter? Ask for an apron? Shit! “So—um, how can I assist you this morning?” Words came flying out of her mouth. Quick. A bit too quick.
Lost in Amber Page 28
