No words were needed as we dried off and left our damp towels on the floor.
Every step I took toward the bed showed me just how tired I was.
And by the time Arthur pulled back the quilt and beckoned me into its comforting embrace, my muscles decided their time of work was done and they would go no further.
I moaned as my body snuggled into the warm bed.
Arthur climbed in beside me, his bulk granting contented happiness at the thought of sleeping side by side.
I sighed with bone-deep satisfaction as a long arm snaked around my middle, pulling my damp, warm skin against his nakedness.
Locked together like perfect yin and yang, we fell asleep with our heartbeats whirring in sync.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Heaven on earth.
That was where I lived when Cleo looked at me with love.
I didn’t care her memories were gone. We could make new ones. Lots and lots of new ones.
I intended for us to never be apart again.
We would live in our heaven on earth, where no evil was permitted to touch us.
But where there was a heaven, there was a hell.
A hell lurking dark, deep, and disgusting.
A hell waiting to steal our happiness.
And it was coming for us.
—Kill
The letter seemed innocent. A simple yellow lined note handwritten by someone with fastidious penmanship.
If I had known it would end up destroying my carefully constructed world, I might not have opened it. It tore down the falseness I’d surrounded myself with and hurled me into the dark where I remained until he found me.
Dear Ms. Sarah Jones,
You don’t know me, but I know you. I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I held you when you were born and attended your birthday every year. You were like a daughter to me and when you disappeared, my heart broke as surely as any parent’s.
But my heart has now healed, because I’ve found you.
Finally.
After all these years.
I had to stop reading. I needed to sit down. Finally, a clue to the past I could never recall. Who had written to me? How had they found me?
Stumbling from the doorway of my apartment building, I collapsed against the steps. My hands trembled as I smoothed the letter and continued to read.
I don’t know what happened to you to leave your family and those who loved you so much. You left behind a world that never healed without you in it. I didn’t know if I should find you, contact you, and tell you these things, but questions need to be answered.
Did you hate us that much?
Did you decide we were no longer worthy of being your family?
I have so many more to ask you, as I’m sure you have to ask me.
I want to meet you.
If you want to meet me, and to find out the truth of who you are, come to Florida and check into the Dancing Dolphins in the Keys. Check in under your name, and I’ll come for you.
I hope you come, Sarah Jones.
It’s time to take your rightful place.
It’s time to come home.
The memory hadn’t stopped echoing in my mind ever since I woke.
A recollection and the piece of the puzzle of how I came to be here.
Who had written the note? It’d been unsigned and with no return address. No matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t recognize the voice of the author.
As Arthur rushed around, calling people to come and investigate the break-in and preparing for a new day, I sat nursing the vital clue.
Bit by bit more truth came to light.
God, it was boring.
And painful and frustrating and frightening—but most of all boring.
I stared blankly at the small TV in the hospital room, not paying attention to the bright colors or noises. My whole attention was turned inward, poking at memories that’d completely disappeared.
No trace of anything.
Not even my name.
“Hello.”
I blinked, bringing the newcomer into focus. His plainclothes authority sent my heart fizzing fearfully in my rib cage. “Hello.”
“I’m Detective Davidson. I’m with the FBI and I’ve been to visit you a few times since your accident a few weeks ago. Do you remember me?”
I narrowed my eyes, looking down my bandage-covered body. This was an accident? What stupidity had I done? Shaking my head free from cotton wool and torturing questions, I looked at Detective Davidson. “No, I don’t remember you.”
He smiled softly, the pity in his blue gaze rupturing my strength and causing tears to build. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Shuffling closer to my bed, he said, “I’ve been talking to your doctors, and they said you’ll be ready to leave soon. They also advised me that you still can’t remember your name, family, or where you came from.”
I ignored the agony in my chest. I was an orphan—homeless—a stray with no family. That was worse than the constant throb of burns and healing skin grafts. There was nothing to say, so I remained quiet.
“The state has given you the name Sarah Jones until such a time as you remember.” Sitting awkwardly by my bed, he patted my knee.
I hissed between my teeth. That was my right knee. My toasted knee.
“Shit, sorry!” He hunched in his chair, keeping his hands to himself.
His fear of a girl wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy made the terribleness of my situation become humorous. I laughed softly. “It’s okay.” Tilting my head to study him, I asked, “Why are you here? Why is an FBI agent telling me this?”
Detective Davidson swallowed nervously. “I’m no good at delivering news subtly, so I’m just going to come out and say it. We have reason to believe the accident was intentional. Some evidence has come to light that makes us suspect you were the victim of an attempted homicide and until such a time as you remember, to bring whoever did this to justice, we are placing you in protective custody. We aren’t going to advertise that you’re alive, or ask for people to come forward until we know who to trust.”
“You’re arresting me?”
A smile twitched his lips, his brown short hair military precise on his head. “No, we’re giving you a new life, away from here.” Leaning forward, he said, “This is an opportunity to create a life you’ve always wanted, live in a country you’ve never visited, all while being watched over by us. As you’re under eighteen, you’ll be placed with a foster family until you come of legal age, but you can decide where you want to go. We normally give you a plan, a name, and a job to uphold as your new identity, but in this case you can choose.”
My lungs worked harder, still aching from smoke inhalation. “What—what are you saying?”
Detective Davidson patted the file on his legs. “This, Sarah Jones, is your new life.”
“I don’t want a new life. I want my old one.”
His shoulders rolled. “The doctors said they’d talked to you. You’re suffering what’s known as psychogenic amnesia. It’s an act of self-preservation.”
Tears pressed harder at being held hostage by my own mind. “But I’m ready to remember. I’m strong enough to understand.”
Detective Davidson smiled sadly. “The doctors can explain again what it means, but it doesn’t work that way. These things are very rare. Your repressed memories may be recovered spontaneously, or decades later. You might smell a particular smell and a memory will come back. Or you might hear a favorite song and everything will unlock. Because it’s psychological, psychogenic amnesia can sometimes be helped by therapy. But we need to plan for the worst.”
“Which is?” I whispered.
“That you might never remember. Like I said, it’s very rare, but a possibility. We have to move forward.”
I wanted to scream. And rage. And cry.
Not only was my body damaged but my mind, too.
Clearing his throat, Detective Davidson said, “Without thinking about
the answers, tell me… what would be your ultimate profession once you finish school?”
“A vet.”
I blinked. That had come from nowhere. I went deathly still, hoping to God that my memory was coming back.
“And where would you live, if you had any choice?”
“England.”
My mouth plopped open. Why there? The answer had come to me but no reasoning whatsoever.
Detective Davidson smiled, taking notes in his file. “In that case, Sarah Jones, we will do everything in our power to give you a new life with a family in England, and enroll you in subjects to ensure a career as a veterinary surgeon. It will take some time to iron out the details, but we’ll get started on the necessary paperwork.”
This was happening too fast. Too sudden.
“Paperwork?”
He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Yes, a new passport, new social security card—a new beginning.” His eyes softened. “You will rise from this and be safe in a completely new world. And then, when you’re older and perhaps remember, we’ll find justice for what happened to you.”
It wasn’t until after hundreds of questions—most of which I couldn’t answer—that I was finally left alone to go over what had happened.
Whoever I’d been up until that moment was gone.
I was about to be reborn.
I was about to disappear forever.
My knees buckled a little as the memory ended. That had been the day my life as Cleo Price had ended. It’d been the worst feeling imaginable to be a prisoner inside my own mind—to be barricaded from people who could’ve helped me.
Then there was Corrine.
She wasn’t just a friend like I’d thought.
She was my sister.
“Nice to meet you.”
I looked up from lugging my bag through the terminal toward the exit. There, in front of me, was a girl with blonde short hair and vibrant blue eyes. She was alive. Where I was dead.
Behind her stood a man and woman, both smiling nervously.
“Do I know you?” The constant fear that I knew people and offended them by not remembering had become the bane of my life. I worried constantly if someone smiled my way or waved in my direction.
Did I know them?
Did I love them once?
“No, you don’t. But we know about you. You’re coming to live with us.” Bouncing in place, she snatched my suitcase and enveloped me in a hug. “I’ve always wanted a sister. We’re going to school together and I want to be a vet, too! How awesome is this?”
My heart died all over again. This was my foster family. An unwanted surrogate to a home I couldn’t recall.
When I didn’t reply, the father murmured, “Don’t be afraid. Detective Davidson has cleared it all. You’re already enrolled in the finest school, and we’ll take you down to the station to meet your contact early next week.”
I never took my eyes off my suitcase. I hated strangers touching it. Inside held nothing I remembered, only brand-new clothes purchased for Sarah Jones, not whoever I’d been. But it was the only thing I owned. The only thing I had to be protective of.
“I don’t need a new family.” I needed to be left alone. Alone in the dark so my memories might find me.
Corrine looped her arm through mine. “You’re right, you don’t need help. ’Cause you’ve got me.” Dragging me unwillingly from the terminal and into watery sunshine, she sighed happily. “Welcome to England, Sarah. I have a feeling we’re going to get along stupendously.”
She was right.
After the first few weeks of crying myself to sleep and the uncertainty of learning to live again with a blank mind, I slowly found happiness.
I was able to heal while studying biology and English.
I was able to stop obsessing over a past I might never remember and become healthier in heart and mind.
Corrine became my entire world.
My heart panged to think I’d left her behind so easily.
She’d given me back the will to live; she hugged me when I broke and celebrated with me when I excelled. Yet the moment the letter arrived hinting I might finally, after all this time, find the truth, I left her without a good-bye.
I ignored the voice that said it was stupid to chase after something that should remain buried.
I hadn’t dared tell her why I was going—just in case she told the officers handling my file. I’d left her a cowardly note, given notice at my job at Precious Pets, withdrew my meager savings, and booked a one-way ticket to America.
But of course she’d somehow found out my plan and tracked me down at the airport.
She hadn’t tried to stop me, though.
Out of everyone, she understood the most why I had to leave. Why I had to search for the green-eyed boy I’d never gotten over.
I’d jumped headfirst into danger.
“You ready?” Arthur snapped into my musing.
The residual emotions of being so alone and afraid refused to unclaw themselves from my heart. I ached with lonely emptiness that I’d lived with for eight long years. No matter how many new memories I made, no matter how many experiences I lived, I’d never shed the desolation of not having a past.
My stomach rolled at the thought of living a life without him. Eight years had been interminable—forever would’ve destroyed me.
His eyes blazed into mine, focused on solving the break-in and delivering justice. He was my protector, lover, and best friend. As long as I was with him, everything would work out.
“Yes, I’m ready.” Smoothing down my black blouse and skinny dark jeans, I followed him to the garage and his awaiting motorcycle.
I blinked up at Florida Penitentiary for the second time.
Nerves skittered down my spine. “What are we doing back here?”
Arthur grabbed my hand. Striding toward the imposing correctional facility, he replied, “Going to see him.”
“Him who?”
“You know who. The man who gave me everything when others took it all away.”
My heart skipped a beat at the hatred and guilt in his tone.
I jerked on his hand, pulling him to a stop. “Tell me. Here and now. Tell me what happened to you. Why were you in prison? The truth this time.”
I wished I’d had time and access to the Internet. I would’ve done a search—I would’ve looked up his criminal record to find out just what he continued to hide.
His brow tightened, shadowing his eyes. The soft pads of his fingertips kissed my cheek as he smiled sadly. “Do you trust me?”
I frowned. “As much as I can while I’m blind from things you won’t tell me.”
His shoulders sagged. “Do you love me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Then let that love be enough for now. Be glad that we’ve found each other, because there’s still so much you don’t understand and I don’t—I can’t ruin it yet.”
“Why would it ruin what we have?” I looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me. You’re starting to scare me, Art.”
Cupping my cheek, he kissed me softly. I would’ve loved to see the action from an outsider’s perspective. A scary-looking biker dressed in boots and leather, kissing a girl half his size outside a prison.
Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “Let’s go see Wallstreet. And then… I’ll do my best to explain.”
Getting through security wasn’t fun.
Arthur moved through the metal detectors and body checks easily enough—used to entering on a regular basis.
I didn’t enjoy being touched or made to feel like I was a criminal just for visiting one. My name was triple-checked on the approved list of visitors that Art must’ve called ahead for and the smiles were laced with suspicion. The grudging approval for us to move forward when they found no contraband was almost comical.
“A place like this jades you,” Arthur said as we were marched down the cold, nondescript corridor. Windows with mesh and locked doors were the only décor
as we moved forward into the bowels of the jail.
A guard noticed Arthur and gave him a salute. “Hey, Kill. You good, bro?”
Arthur grinned, nodding. “As good as could be expected. You?”
“Can’t complain. Your buddy’s well and prisoners are behaving, so all good in the hood, as it were.”
Arthur waved and we kept moving.
We were led into a private room with high windows, rings bolted to the floor for chains and bindings, and a metal table in the center.
The guard who’d been our guide said, “Wait here. He won’t be long.”
Arthur sat down, slouching in one of the metal chairs as if he was completely at home here. I supposed he was. How many years had they said he’d lived inside these walls?
The urge to know why he’d been locked up ate at my soul. I had to know. It worried me. Worried me because it was somehow intrinsically linked to my past and all the things I was trying to remember.
The clanking heavy door opened again, spewing forth a man in an orange jumpsuit. He looked like a friendly grandfather, with shrewd intelligence but a kindness in his eyes that immediately made me gravitate toward him.
His white hair glistened neatly beneath the fluorescents and his skin glowed a healthy pink.
For a prisoner, he was meticulously clean, with clipped nails, ironed collar, and pristine shoes.
Arthur stood, smiling as the old man glided forward, unbound by shackles to sit primly on the other side of the table.
“Kill, my boy. Lovely to see you.” His blue eyes landed on mine. “And who do we have here?”
I froze. Those eyes… Why were they so familiar?
Arthur linked his fingers together on the tabletop, smiling in my direction. Pride and love glowed on his face. “This is Cleo Price.”
The room crackled as energy swirled from the old man. “Ah… is it now?” His eyes drifted from the top of my head to my clenched hands before me. “Now I understand.” His skin crinkled as he smiled. “It all suddenly makes sense.”