Story #52 - Memories

Well, everybody, this is the end. I can't believe it's been a year since I started this blog, and I can't believe I managed to write fifty-two stories. Soon after this last story, I'm planning to post some stats (the total word count of all my stories, for example) and then a list of the stories I am most proud of. And my next big project is to write a novel! It's for my Senior Project in order to graduate. In the coming weeks, I might post excerpts of my novel. And, of course, when I'm less busy, I will work on editing these stories.

I would like to thank each and every person who read one or more of my stories, and especially the people who commented. I loved hearing what you liked and didn't like, and your comments helped give me the energy to continue writing. I dedicate this last story to all of you. Enjoy! :)

Title: Memories
Warnings: mild, not graphic or violent crime
Summary: Amnesia, conflicting memories, and plenty of mystery.
Length: ~4,450 words
Notes: First person point of view, present tense. Genre is psychological thriller.

Memories

            I wake up with a groan. My head is killing me, and even though I must’ve been asleep, I don’t feel rested. Slowly I crack open my eyes, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. I’m in a nice room with cream-colored walls. There’s a painting on the far side of the wall that I’m either too tired to make out, or maybe it’s supposed to be an abstract blur of lines and colors.

            “Marie,” someone says delightedly. “You’re up.”

Startled, I glance in the direction of the voice. A tall, middle-aged man stands in the doorway, along with a blonde woman who I guess is his wife. The man had spoken. Is he talking to me? Is my name Marie? Why can’t I remember any of this?

“I’m sorry, I can’t – who are you?” I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice from shaking.

The man smiles kindly. “I’m sorry, we should have introduced ourselves. I’m Tim, your father, and this is Meryl, your mother.”

I stare blankly at him. “What?”

“You have retrograde amnesia, Marie,” the woman – my mother? – explains. “A while ago, you were out rollerblading – you love rollerblading – and you fell and hit your head. And now… now you can’t remember anything from your past.”

I try to process this. What did I do yesterday? The day before that? I can’t remember. Everything starts to go blurry and I realize I’m breathing way too fast. I take in great gulps of air, trying to steady myself even with the realization that I’ve lost my memory.

Tim – my father – rushes over to me. “Easy, Marie,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “Take deep breaths. You’re okay. We’re here for you.”

Slowly, I settle down. The panic attack has used up my meager resources of energy, and I close my eyes. Someone’s hand strokes my forehead.

“Sleep,” I hear my mother whisper. “You’ll feel better.”

I sleep.

The next time I wake up, I’m relieved that I can at least remember what happened previously – meeting my mom and dad, freaking out, etc. What’s a bit less reassuring is that the rest of my life is a gaping black hole. I slowly sit up and look around. I must be in my room, right? Maybe if I look around I can find some clues about who I am. But just as I’m about to get out of bed, the door opens again and my dad walks in. I settle back down. Asking my father should be another good resource to discover my identity.

“Hey, Marie,” my dad says. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” I say.

We’re quiet for a moment. My dad sits down at a nearby chair. We’re still quiet.

“Well, this is awkward,” I say.

My dad looks up as if he’s been snapped out of a daze. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk. How are you adjusting?”

“I want to know more about me. Is there anything I should know about? Like, do I have diabetes or the Russian mafia after me or something?”

My dad smiles. “Well, you’ve still got your sense of humor. Ah, let’s see… nothing too terrible that I know about, at least. I wish we had a journal to give you, but you never were one to keep a diary.”

I frown. “What about pictures?”

My dad shakes his head. “We don’t take pictures. We believe it takes away from the poignancy of the moment.”

I nod, trying not to look so skeptical. This is my family. Their beliefs must be mine. “Okay, then, no pictures.”
            We’re silent for a moment. Then my dad looks at me and smiles. “How about a few stories about you?”

“Embarrassing ones?”

“Nothing too bad.”

“Okay.”

And so my dad begins to paint me a picture of Marie MacGyver. She once found a baby bird and nursed it to health. One time she “ran away from home” but only made it halfway down the street before deciding staying at home was better. She loved oranges and her favorite color was green. (I don’t know if I like oranges. And green’s all right.) She was a very good pickpocket.

The last one strikes me as strange. I stare at my dad, trying to decide why he mentioned that, but then someone knocks on the door. I’m surprised they don’t just barge in like my parents have been doing.

“Ah, just in time,” my dad says. “There’s one other person you should meet.”

My blood runs cold, but I manage to stave off another panic attack. I can’t explain this sudden dread assaulting me. Who could it be? Do I have a boyfriend? Would that be a good or bad thing? It’d definitely be awkward. Muscles tensed, I wait for the person to walk in. It’s a boy, maybe a bit older than me. Oh, no.

“Marie, this is your brother, Luke,” my dad says. I breathe a (hopefully subtle) sigh of relief. A brother, I can deal with. I have brothers at home.

Wait, what? Was that a memory? If so, of course I have a brother (brothers?). He’s right in front of me. Shaking off any confusing thoughts, I turn towards Luke.

“Hi,” I say.

He grins. His teeth are straight and white. “Hey, Marie.”

“Dad was just telling me stories about me,” I say. “He says I’m a good pickpocket, but I think I’ve forgotten the skill.”

Luke shares a quick look with my dad that I can’t read. Then he looks back at me. “We’re all good pickpockets. You’ll learn again in due time.”

“That’s enough, Luke,” my dad says sternly. “Let Marie come to everything on her own time.”

“Sorry,” Luke says, not sounding entirely sincere. Dad gives him a Look.

“You’ve seen Marie, now get back to what you were doing,” my dad says to Luke.

My brother grimaces at me, and I pull a sympathetic face. I wonder if we always do this, a sort of sibling commiseration regarding our parent’s demands. Luke smiles at me, and then leaves. My dad picks up telling me stories until I beg off, claiming tiredness. But really I need to think.

I’m beginning to get a creeping suspicion that I live in a house full of crooks. All this talk about pickpocketing and the lack of photos (not fond of mug shots?) has made me suspicious. I’m probably overreacting, or maybe my deductive abilities have been ruined by my head injury. But soon I’ll have to find out the truth. I decide to ask Luke. He seems like the most approachable. Relieved to have made a decision, I quickly drop off to sleep.

I dream of two people, a man and a woman. They don’t look like my parents, but I immediately know they are my dad and mom. In the dream, I am outside a burning house and my parents are inside. Several men are holding me back from running inside. None of them look like Luke, but I know they are my brothers. I turn to them and we cry as we watch our parents and our house go up in flames.

When I wake up, my heart is pounding and my hands tremble. I take deep gulps of air, reminding myself that it was just a dream. My family is fine. They’re right here with me. Still, I can’t quite calm down so I decide to splash some water on my face. I get up from the bed, surprised at how shaky I am. Slowly, I make my way outside. My dad said the bathroom was just down the hall and… either to the left or the right. I’ll figure it out.

As I walk down the hall, I stop when I notice a light on behind a door on the right. I hear murmuring voices – my parents. Curious, I inch up to the door and stay still, trying not to breathe. I can just barely hear them.

“… the pickpocketing,” says my dad. “It spooked her a little, I think.”

My mom sighs. “We shouldn’t have trusted him. We should’ve known he’d screw it up.”

“He’s still under our thumb. We’ll give him another shot,” my dad replies.

They fall silent, and I continue on quietly, thinking over the mysterious conversation. They must’ve been talking about me and Luke. The callousness in their voices when they talked about Luke surprised me. He’s their son, but they act as if he’s just a tool. A tool to be used in the pickpocketing business? I feel a strong sense of having stumbled upon something rotten, but this is my life. I didn’t stumble upon it; I was born into it. And so was Luke.

I make it to the bathroom and splash water on my face, but I don’t wake up from this nightmare.

I need to talk to Luke.

It turns out that speaking to my brother alone is easier said than done. It seems that my mom or my dad is always there, regaling me with stories of my life. Sometimes Luke is there too, but most of the time he is away doing mysterious things (pickpocketing?). Some nights I tell myself that I will sneak outside my room and go talk to him, but I never do. A big part of me wants to trust my parents, callous pickpockets or not. Another part of me fears that talking to Luke will only make things worse. So now, weeks later, I listen to my mom tell a story about my high school graduation (apparently I’m through with high school, but am taking a gap year before going to college). I consider asking her if we are crooks. What would she say? Would she laugh? Tell me yes? Not answer?

“Mom?” I ask.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I take a walk outside? I haven’t been outside in ages, and I’m feeling a lot stronger.”

She hesitates as I wait anxiously. “Okay,” she says finally.

I smile. Now, for the next step… “Can Luke come with me? He can make sure I’m doing okay.”

My mom gives me a considering look. I try to look as innocent as possible. It must work, because she nods. “Sure.”

“Great!” I say, but inside I am second-guessing myself. Maybe I’ve only been imagining that my parents are trying to keep Luke and me separated. Sometimes I feel like my lack of memories has been replaced with an overactive imagination, or maybe I’ve always had that. I don’t know. But it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not, sometimes.

Like the memories. More and more often, I’ve been having flashes (a woman’s smiling face, a tasty apple, swimming on my school team, not-Luke’s brotherly jab). None of them match with what my parents have told me, but they seem so real. I try to call it off as my overcompensating imagination, but it unsettles me. Maybe this chance to talk to Luke will answer my questions. Yes, I worry about it not turning out well, but it’s better to know.

A few minutes later Luke and I are outside. I gaze around, smiling at the sunny blue sky and enjoying the birdsong. I feel like I’ve always loved the outdoors. Beside me, Luke grins as we slowly walk down the street. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Thanks for walking with me.”

“No problem.”

We walk a bit further as I muster up the courage to ask the question that’s been nagging me for weeks. Eventually, I go with, “So what do you do all day?”

My brother looks at me in surprise. “Huh?”

“Dad’s always telling you to get back to your work, but whenever I ask him or Mom about it they’re… evasive. Is it… do you…” What a weird question. But I take a deep breath and bite the bullet. “Are you a pickpocket?”

Luke whistles through his teeth. “Man,” he says. “Uh, why would you say that?”

It’s an evasion, but I go with it. “Well, there was the weird story about me being a good pickpocket. And, I don’t know, a few things I overheard our parents say… I’m just, I’m curious.”

“I knew you’d figure it out,” Luke says. “Ti – Dad wanted to ease you in slowly, but he screwed up when he mentioned pickpocketing right away. He thought you figured he was just kidding, but I could tell you knew something was up.”

Oddly enough, I feel relief. The question is answered, even if the answer is not good. “So we’re all pickpockets, then.”

Luke shrugs. “Yeah… pretty much.”

We walk a bit further. I stare ahead, lost in thought, when suddenly Luke grabs me by the arm and hurries me down the street. Bewildered, I glance behind us, seeing only a familiar-looking poster and an old man far away. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought someone was following us,” Luke says breathlessly. “C’mon, it’s time to go back.”

My heart speeds up as we walk briskly back home. But it’s not because someone’s following us. It’s because I just figured out why the poster looked so familiar.

It was a picture of me, smiling into the camera – a school photo, maybe. And beneath it was a large, bolded word – MISSING.

I can’t sleep that night. I don’t know how I even functioned the rest of the day. I don’t remember much – I must’ve been in a daze. My dad was mad at my mom for letting Luke and me go outside. He claimed that I wasn’t well enough yet, and that Luke was grounded, or something along those lines. But those creeping suspicions that were right about the pickpocketing are overtaking me again, and family drama pales in comparison. What if my family isn’t just full of thieves – what if they’re kidnappers? What if my family isn’t even my family?

I’ve gone over it countless times, but I’m positive that poster was a Missing poster of me. In the wide world, I am missing. But obviously I am right here. Here, in this house, with no memories and no pictures and no proof at all that anything is as it seems.

  My mind immediately jumps to the maybe-memories I’ve been having. All of them had seemed so right and comparatively made my life now seem so wrong. My parents – the ones in my memories, the ones who burned to death – looked nothing like my mom and dad here. My brothers looked nothing like Luke. But they felt like family, and those memories felt like my life. The people here? As hard as I try, they don’t feel like family. They feel like a charade, a façade. I figured it was just because they were hiding their criminal ways. But maybe it’s more than that.

Why would someone want to kidnap me? And is it even kidnapping if I don’t know I’ve been kidnapped? Maybe I should call the police. But I’m not sure I even have access to a phone. And what would I say? “I’m not missing, but I think I’ve been kidnapped”?

I toss and turn in my bed, heaving a huge sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m alone in the world. If everything I’ve been told is a lie – if my family isn’t really my family, and they’re actually my kidnappers – that doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad. The life I have here isn’t so awful. My parents (kidnappers?) are nice to me, and I like Luke. Yeah, eventually I’ll probably have to become a pickpocket. But how do I know my old life was any better? From what I can remember, my parents died, and I don’t know what happened to my brothers. Judging from the fact that no one has come looking for me, maybe I’m all alone in the world. Maybe this amnesia, kidnapping, and pseudo-family is just what I need.

I won’t call the police, at least not yet. But I can’t let my “parents” know that I saw the Missing poster. They might laugh off my suspicions, but I was right about the pickpocketing. I could be right about that too.

Luke gave me a straight answer last time. He’s the weakest link, the one to grill for information. The next time I can get him alone, I’ll ask him.

I finally get to sleep. In my dream-memories, I see the faces of my parents and brothers, and then I see Tim and Meryl and Luke. I see myself swimming, and then I see a faceless figure pickpocketing. You are not a pickpocket, Rachel, a voice from deep inside me intones. You are not Marie.

I wake up in the morning, tired but feeling steadier than I’ve felt since I was reintroduced to the world with a blank slate for my identity. Tim, Meryl, and Luke had tried to fill it up, but the real me was underneath, just waiting to resurface.

I am Rachel. And today, I’m going to figure out what to do about my “family.”

My chance to talk to Luke comes earlier than expected. My dad – I guess I should just think of him as Tim now – is still angry with Meryl, and so they aren’t doing as good of a job at monitoring me as usual. Instead of going to my room to give me something to read or telling me probably-false stories, they’re holed up in their room together, talking. That gives me the chance to knock on Luke’s door.

“Come in,” he says.

I enter and close the door behind me, looking around. I’ve never been in his room before. It’s surprisingly Spartan, with almost no personal touches. Luke is sitting on his bed, sketching something. He looks surprised to see me.

“Hey, Marie. What is it?”

“Don’t call me Marie.”

“Why not?”

This is it, the moment of decision. If I let him know I’m onto him, will he alert Tim and Meryl? Or will he help me?

I remember overhearing my “parents” talking about Luke as if he was just a tool in their belt. I think about how stern my dad – Tim is with him. I think about how Luke told me about the pickpocketing, but tried to keep me from seeing the poster. Can I trust him? I don’t know. But I want to.

“You’re not really my brother, are you, Luke?”

Luke’s eyes widen. I can see the indecision on his face. He has to decide – bluff, or tell the truth? He blinks, and I can see the decision is made. I wait nervously to find out what it is.

“No,” he says softly. “I’m not your brother.”

He’s on my side. I want to collapse with relief, but instead I make my way closer to him. “I know my name’s Rachel, not Marie.”

Luke nods. “You got your memory back?”

“Some of it.” I sit down in a chair beside the bed. I run a hand through my hair, and ask the most important question. “Why?”

I don’t have to explain it. Luke sets aside his sketchbook and sighs. “Tim and Meryl have been running this for a while. They find people with amnesia – people who won’t be missed – and then they try to turn them into criminals who will get money for them. It’s kind of an Oliver Twist thing, but with a… twist.”

I try to ignore the “people who won’t be missed” part and focus on getting answers. “What happened to everyone else?”

Luke shrugs. “Most of them are in jail, never knowing they’ve been lied to. Some of them died. The ones, like you, who did regain their memory – well, they either end up like me, or dead.”

I shiver at the thought that a few doors down lay my potential future murderers. “What happened to you?”

“I was just like you, at first,” Luke says. “An amnesiac that they tried to turn into a money-making machine. But I started getting my memories back, so I – I confronted them. I threatened to call the police. But Tim and Meryl said no one would believe me, and that no one cared about me. They said they were the only family I had.”

“And you believed them?”

Luke looks at me desolately. Even though I know we’re not siblings, I feel bonded to him, and strangely protective. He doesn’t deserve this life.

“They were right, weren’t they?” he says. “So when they offered to let me in on their operation, I accepted. You were my first assignment.”

We’re quiet for a while as we both absorb what this means. The fact that Luke is telling me this now is proof that he failed his assignment. I feel honored that he would risk his safety for me.

I have just one more question for him. “Well, what are we waiting for? We have to go.”

Luke just looks at me, listless and a bit confused. “Huh?”

I stand up from my chair, glancing at the time. I don’t know how long I can count on Tim and Meryl staying in their room. “I can’t stay here knowing I’ve been kidnapped. And now that you’ve told me everything, you’re in danger, too. We have to go.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, you don’t get it. They don’t have to know that I told you anything, just that your memory came back. Then you can join me, and Tim and Meryl. We can run this together. I’ll teach you the ropes, and we’ll do better with the next person.”

I don’t even consider it. “No, Luke, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. I have more options besides die or join the evil. I can leave, right now, and later call the cops on Tim and Meryl. They’ll go to jail, and then we’ll be safe. If you help me and escape with me, you probably won’t even get a prison sentence.”

Luke looks at me earnestly. “You can’t do it, Rachel. Tim and Meryl are strong, and more powerful than you think. It’d be better to just accept that now. And besides, what are you going to do once you get away – if you get away – and call the police? You have nowhere to go. You know nothing about your life. What can you do?”

I take a moment to pause and look at Luke. I can tell he really believes what he’s saying. I can always hear an undercurrent of fear in his words – fear that has kept him a prisoner of Tim and Meryl for so long. He really believes that there is nothing out there for him, and that he can’t do anything to change it. But I don’t believe that. I can’t.

“I can do a lot of things,” I say. “First thing is getting out of here. And you can either come with me, or stay here and probably get arrested along with Tim and Meryl.”

Luke doesn’t move. “I’m sorry, Rachel. It’s not going to work.”

I fight with a twin urge to cry and to scream. How could Luke be so stupid? I take a deep, shaky breath. “Last chance,” I warn.

Luke shakes his head.

I look at him one more time. He picks up his sketchbook again and starts drawing, the very picture of a content prisoner. I barely manage to leave his room without slamming the door.

I’m on my own. But even without my full memory, I can count on my perseverance. I quickly figure out what I need to take with me – some evidence to help convict Tim and Meryl, a change of clothes, some food, and money. That should be enough to get me started on my new life, whatever it may be.

I’m tempted to leave a note for Tim and Meryl. I want them to know that I figured it out and had the guts and the smarts to get away. I want them to fear the approach of the police. But I figure it’s better for them not to know, and it’s better for me not to have a confrontation with them. They lied to me, pretended to love me, and attempted to exploit me, and I would love to yell at them. But Luke does have a point – they’re dangerous. They’re thieves and kidnappers. It’s best to get out safely and get my revenge in a courtroom.

I carefully sneak out of my room and creep towards the door when I hear another door open. I freeze. Not Tim or Meryl – I was so close! I hear footsteps approaching, and I prepare to either run or fight with all I have. But as I turn around, I see Luke.

He looks frightened and his entire frame is trembling. But his white-knuckled grip holds a duffle bag similar to mine, and he’s not in his pajamas anymore. Could it be?

“Luke?” I whisper. “What is it?”

“I’m going with you,” he says. His voice shakes, but his expression is determined.

I smile, my heart feeling a thousand times lighter. I know I can count on my own perseverance, but it’s nice to know I’m not alone. Even if my ally looks like a breeze could blow him over.

“You made the right choice,” I grin, beckoning him over as I head for the door.

He follows me silently. “After you go to the police, where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” I say. I can see this doesn’t reassure Luke. I open the door and step out. Luke hesitantly comes up behind me.

“I know I had a life once, and so did you,” I continue. “But now we have the chance to make another one. We might not know yet what it’ll be. But we have a chance, and we have to take it.”

“We don’t know anyone,” Luke says.

“We know each other,” I respond. “That’s our starting point.”

Luke stares at me. In the moonlight, his eyes look silver. We are heading down the street, leaving that House of Horrors behind us. Soon we will grab a taxi and head to a police station. I remember our first walk outside, how Luke seemed to have all the answers. He hid his insecurity well. Once again, I feel fondness and protectiveness towards him. I’m glad he’s with me now. It’s nice not to be alone.

“You’re really something, Rachel,” he says.

I smile. “I get the feeling people tell me that a lot.”

We walk down the street, two amnesiacs with a rope of patched-up maybe-memories between us and definitely-bad memories behind us. We walk into our future, uncertain, bright, and full of memories to be made.

Life is good.

The End!!!!