“Well maybe I will one day,” I bark back. I happen to have a little bit of faith in Elijah’s determination to get me to remember. Elijah seems to think so.”
“Elijah seems to think so,” Damien says in a mocking tone.
Out of nowhere Aurora scampers down the hall and sidles up next to me. Her head snaps to the left and she scowls at Damien. “Leave her alone.”
Damien puffs out his chest and takes a step toward Aurora. “I’m tired of you telling me what to do.”
They’ve been like this a lot lately. I’m always wondering why they’re fighting over me. Neither one of them ever seems to want to tell me and I hate feeling clueless. Finally I scream out in frustration, throw my hand in the air and face them both. “What is going on with you two?” I ball my hands into fists and place them on my hips. “You’re always bickering about something that has to do with me and I want to know what the hell it is! I’m tired of being left in the dark about it!”
Both Aurora and Damien exchange awkward glances. I give them both an awkward glance. Now the whole situation in general is awkward and I’m stuck in the middle. “Well come on,” I urge them with lifted brows. “Somebody spit it out.”
Again, neither one of them says a word.
I stomp my foot. It’s childish, I know but I just want some damn answers.
Damien cocks his head to the side, his blue eyes gleaming. “You really don’t know do you?” His voice goes up a level.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused. “No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Listen Addy,” Aurora says in a soothing voice.
“Oh, cut the crap,” Damien snaps, jutting his arm out and shoving Aurora to the side. He points to himself then to Aurora. “We’re dead.” My mouth falls open because nothing he says is making sense. I know Damien died. But Aurora? Dr.Watson? Marjorie?
“So wait…” I try to find more words, but can’t. I clear my throat. “Does that mean?”
“Yeah,” Damien says, in a matter of fact tone. “So are you.”
Chapter Eighteen
~After~
I’m blinded by darkness.
I’m careful not to make any sudden movements in fear that I might know something over and make loud noises that would make the night-shift orderly come running. So I move forward, on my tip-toes and put my arms out to feel for any object that might cross my path.
I’ve been in this office more times than I can count and I know that Dr. Swell has a lamp on her desk. If I turned the light on in the room that draw too much attention, but I know that lamp would be dim enough if I pulled it off the desk and set it on the floor.
I take a few strides and run into the corner of Dr. Swell’s desk. I almost cry out in agony as a searing pain starts at my hip before traveling down my thigh. Instead, I swallow hard and take a deep breath, pushing through it. This mission is too precious. Too delicate. And too important to blow.
I can’t get caught.
I just can’t.
There’s too much at stake.
My existence for that much and on top of that, all I’ve wanted these last couple years is to know who I really am. All I’ve wanted is answers to the questions that constantly probe my mind. And it’s not just that I want them, I need them. I’m the type of person who can’t get a firm grip on reality without closure. If I don’t have it, the uncertainty of the unknown will always hold me back. The what if’s will eat away at my brain until the nodules in my cranium look like noodles.
I blink several times into the dark then squint. The moonlight seeps through the closed blinds and gives me a little bit of light. My gaze locks on the filing cabinet in the back left corner of the room. The tan colored metal is cloaked by a layer of shadows. I know my file is in there, but the question is; which drawer is it in?
There are five different drawers.
I know Dr. Swell. The woman is a perfectionist. My guess would be that everything is organized alphabetically and that my file has to
be in either the top drawer or the one beneath it. I move toward the filing cabinet slowly. I stuffed the fork I used to pick the lock on my door into my bra and the coldness from the metal is making my shiver. I’m also shivering out of fear. I can feel my knees wobble with each step that I take and I swear I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.
When I’m at the cabinet, I reach for the handle on the first drawer and yank it open. It makes a soft scraping sound and I grit my teeth and pause before continuing on. Leaning over, I examine each manila envelope closely and just as I thought, they’re in alphabetical order. I’m halfway through the A’s when I hear a stirring noise right outside the door.
I freeze.