Always The Hero (Plot Twist, I'm Pregnant 2)

“Yes,” I said, and Logan’s other hand slipped in mine, lacing our fingers together and held me tight. Good. I needed it. I had a feeling this was going to be a wild rollercoaster ride.

“What do you know? Let me start there. I have everything here that you could ever want to know about yourself, anything you want to know, ask.” Officer Cortez opened the file, and the first thing I saw was a large family photo.

My breath caught when the dream I had from the other night bombarded me. “Can I see that picture?”

“Absolutely,” he unclipped it from the pale yellow envelope and handed it over to me.

My hand shook as I reached for it, and when I sat it on my lap, I gasped, tears springing to my eyes as I saw my mom and dad in front of me, smiling, and I was in the middle. I didn’t look much different in this photo, so it couldn’t have been that long ago.

“You look just like her,” Logan said. “Gorgeous.”

“Abigail Ann Adams. Birthday is October 2nd, 1999. Your mother and father were Sara Desire Adams and Miguel Degaldo Adams. Do you remember them? Do you remember anything I told you?” Officer Cortez asked.

I shook my head, and a tear broke free. “No. I… I dreamed about them the other night. I didn’t know if it was real, but I can’t remember anything right now. I feel it, though. I feel the memory of them.” I laid my hand on my heart and held the picture to my chest. It meant so much to have this photo. So much.

“Why can’t you remember?” Lucy asked, her tone soft and steady as she tried not to pry.

I gathered my hair and lifted it, not missing the sharp inhale of breath from her when she saw my scar. “I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I was injured, and the only thing I know is this last year.”

I laid my hair back down and turned to her, only to see her chin wobble and tears break free. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed. “I’ve had to adjust, but I’m okay.”

“You better take care of her.” Lucy pointed a finger at Logan.

“Always,” he said.

I sniffled and wiped my cheek on my shoulder. “What else?” Officer Cortez’s eyes darted to Lucy and Godrick. He didn’t want to say anything else because whatever it was, it was bad.

“Just say it,” I said, wanting to get it over with.

He took a deep breath, which caused his wide chest to expand. He pulled out another photo and laid it on the table, but who I saw, I didn’t recognize. He was white, blue eyes, middle-aged with brown hair, and a dead look in his eyes. He loved nothing.

“This is Steven Kirkland. Do you know this man?”

“No.” And I really didn’t. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“On October 2nd, 2018, this man rang your doorbell and asked one of your parents for directions. Your parents didn’t know they were talking to a serial killer, Abigail. The man in that photo is a professional. Your family was not the first he killed.”

“They were murdered?” I thought back to my dream about my father stumbling down the hallway with his hands clutched to his stomach, getting blood on my hands. “My dream was real. It actually happened.” I felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. I fell into Logan, and the breath whooshed from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe as I gasped. I knew something bad happened, but that was the worse thing imaginable.

Officer Cortez kept going, regardless of my tears, just to get everything out of the way. “Steven Kirkland chased you when you ran. He struck you with his knife, his go-to weapon, in the back of the head.”

I reached back and touched the scar, the smooth skin sliding against my finger. That man took everything from me. My family, my memories, my ability to think quickly, and yes, I had my life, but I couldn’t remember my parents. I wanted to remember them. I shook my head as I cried. “This can’t be real. It can’t be.”

“Why didn’t he kill her?”

“He thought he did,” Officer Cortez said. “You woke up and called 911. You were disoriented. You couldn’t tell them everything that happened. After you healed—”

“—I didn’t heal!” I stood, shouting at him. “I can’t remember anything. I can’t remember how to make a cup of fucking coffee!” I never cursed, but it seemed easy to do right now considering the circumstance. “Do I look healed to you? I can’t remember my own fucking birthday. I couldn’t remember if I had siblings, or my parents, what they looked like, what they felt like, I couldn’t remember anything! Their names, I only know them because you just told me. I can’t remember anything, and you said, I healed? Fuck you!” My words were slurred together, probably unrecognizable, but I didn’t care. I tossed my wine into his face and gasped, dropping the glass from my hand when I saw it dripping off his jaw and chin onto his pants.

The wine glass shattered on the floor, and Godrick stood up from the couch. “It’s okay. Don’t move. I got it.”

“I’m so sorry, Cortez. I’m so sorry,” I wailed, grabbing my stomach when it cramped and knotted. I felt sick. I wanted to throw up. Logan held me as I sobbed, soul-wrenching tears. Everything hurt, everything ached, my heart broke, knowing this was my life. This was the one thing I couldn’t remember.

It was a horror movie, and I was the main character.

“It’s okay, Abigail. Really, it’s just wine. I’m sorry for saying you healed; I meant as healed as you could be when they wanted to take you back to the house—”