The Bringer

Page 34

He pauses by the door, holding it open. “Amanhã, Lucy.”
My heart does a little somersault. “Amanhã, Osvaldo.”
He winks at me with those beautiful bright blue eyes of his, then retreats through the door.
I flop down onto my bed, my skin still tingling from his touch, a huge smile plastered on my face. I cover my face with my hands and simply concentrate on remembering the experience for a moment. Now that’s a memory I’ll definitely be holding on to . . .
Okay, it’s no use, it’s still there. No matter how I may try and pretend it isn’t, that annoying little feeling of guilt is insistent on prickling away at me.
Why do I feel so guilty about being with Fen?
Unless ….. no, that can’t be right, but wait, maybe – I mean it could it be possible, possible that I have someone, someone like Fen who’s out there looking for me, who misses me. Is that why I pushed Fen away, because my subconscious knows the truth?
I feel a rush of anger. Well, if I have, then where the hell is he, why hasn’t he come for me? I’ve been in the papers and on the television . . . unless he hasn’t seen the press about me. Oh, come on, who am I kidding, he’d have had to live in a hole not to have seen my face somewhere.
Conversely, if I am right and there is someone, why has he just left me? Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.
I feel abandoned, alone. A lump forms in my throat and tears well up in my eyes. I swallow them back.
This is crazy! Why am I getting upset about an imaginary boyfriend I most likely don’t even have? Stop being so stupid. I laugh out loud at the absurdity of it.
And I’m not alone, I have Fen, and he’s most definitely the future I want.
Brushing my stupidity aside, I pick the book up off the bed Fen brought me and flick to the first page.
I’m three pages in, and I’m not taking in a single word because my mind keeps drifting to Fen. I can’t wait to see him tomorrow. I close my eyes and remember how he looked just before he left and how it felt to have his body pressed up against mine, and how very sexy he sounded when he spoke to me in Portuguese . . . Minha li - Minha lind- oh, whatever he called me, ‘his beautiful girl’. That’s all I need to know. A shiver goes through my entire body. Oh and that kiss . . .
I think at some point I must have fallen asleep because I’m not in my room anymore, I’m in the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen and there are these purple flowers everywhere. I sense someone behind me and turn to see a man. Even though he’s only standing a few feet away, I can’t make out his face. It’s all blurry and unclear. But I know in his presence I’m safe. I feel happy and loved. He motions for me with his hand. I walk toward him until I’m standing right before him. I look up at his face but it’s still fuzzy. He lifts his hand and brushes my hair off my face. His hand feels so real, like he’s actually here with me now. I can feel his skin on mine and he feels like heaven. Wherever his hand touches, it leaves a delicious trail of warmth in its wake.
“Luce, wake up, baby,” he says, his tone deeply melodic.
Hmm, his voice blankets me . . . I feel so warm, so safe, and he smells familiar. What is that scent? Hang on – smell? - how can I smell him?
“Luce baby, wake up,” he says again.
That’s when I feel the hand on my face and my mind instantly clicks in. I’m not dreaming anymore, I’m awake, and that voice I can hear – well it’s here in my room with me right now. My breath catches in my throat as panic zips through me and my heart starts to beat wildly.
I don’t recognise the voice. Something’s not right. Why would someone be here in my room at this late hour except the nurses? And that voice most definitely does not belong to any of them. Instinctively I know something’s wrong.
I flick my eyes open to find a man with dark hair, and even darker eyes, gazing down at me. And it’s the intensity of his stare that unnerves me.
He slowly withdraws his hand away from my face and I’m sure I see a trace of sadness in his eyes, but I’m far too freaked out to register it properly.
I jump back in bed, practically climbing up the wall. Then I spot a woman standing in the corner of the room. I don’t recognise her either. This only helps to raise my panic levels a good couple of notches.
“Who – who are you?” I say, voice trembling, eyes flitting between the both of them.
I see a look of shock reverberate through the man’s face but his features quickly soften.
“Shh,” he says, raising his hand. “It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re here to help you get your memory back.”
What?
Chapter 22
Remember Me
“What?”
“We’re here to help you,” the dark haired man repeats softly.
I notice how dark it is outside and my eyes immediately flick to the clock. Ten thirty pm.
“How did you get in here? No visitors are allowed in after nine and there’s no way the nurses would buzz you in . . .” My stress level is rising along with my voice. “Who the hell are you?”
The dark haired man glances back at the woman standing in the corner and looks back to me, his gaze wary. “I’m James and that’s Isabel,” he says thumbing over his shoulder. “I’m . . . well, I’m your . . .” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter who I am,” he adds quietly, “but Isabel ,well, she’s an . . . well, she’s here to help you and –” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Isabel an . . . an . . .”
“I’m an angel,” she says.
I splutter out a laugh. I’m looking at the both of them, expecting their serious faces to crack into humour any second now . . .
They don’t.
“What?” I say incredulously. “You’re seriously expecting me to believe you’re –” I point at Isabel. “– an angel.” I can barely keep the grin off my face or the haughty tone from my voice.
“Yes,” she says stringently.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” James intercepts, his voice warm, steady, “but it is the truth. Honestly.”
And right here and now I’ve decided that out of these two loons, I prefer talking to him.
He seems the nicer loon.
“So who are you then, the Easter Bunny?” I deride, my eyes fixed on James as I very slowly and very quietly slide off my bed.
James raises his eyebrow and I can see his mouth twitching with amusement. I can tell he’s struggling to keep the smile from his face which makes me warm to him, slightly, and I mean only slightly because obviously the guy is as crazy as hell.
I stand tall trying to exude confidence even though my body feels like it’s made of rubber. “Okay, so you both need to leave.” I jerk my head in the direction of the door.
James stands. I see just how tall and broad he is. “Look,” he says, hands spread, palms down, “I know how you’re feeling right now. I’ve learnt a lot of things recently I never would have believed possible, but we are telling you the truth.” He presses a hand to his chest. “You’re gonna just have to trust me on that one.”
I let out a half-hearted laugh. “Trust you? I don’t know you to trust you. You two just appear here in my room whilst I’m sleeping and wake me up telling me she’s –” I jab a finger in Isabel’s direction. “– a bloody angel! Seriously, I want you to leave now.” I point firmly toward the door, “and if you don’t, I’m gonna . . .” I stall trying to think of a good enough threat that will get these two nutters out of my room, “– scream bloody murder!” My whole body is trembling as I sidle toward the door.
“Just wait a minute, please!” And I can only assume it’s the desperate tone in his voice that makes me stop because I can’t think of any other reason why I would. “I know I’m not handling this very well –” He puts his hands up and looks pained, “but if you’ll just stay and hear me out, Luce, I can explain everything.”
Time clocks off for a moment. I’m stock-still, wide eyed, mouth open.
Luce . . . Lucy? There’s only one person who knows I was going to call myself Lucy and it’s definitely not him.
“Luce?” I say my voice wobbling all over the place. “Wha- why . . . why did you call me that?”
He looks momentarily confused before his face snaps into understanding. “Luce is your name – well Lucyna’s your actual name,” he corrects himself, “but I always call you Luce.”
My head’s buzzing. Luce . . . Lucyna . . . Lucy. That can’t be, can it? It could just be a coincidence, one hell of a coincidence, mind. But if it’s not and he’s telling the truth, that means he knows me. He could be the key to my past.
“Lucy’s my – it’s the name I –” I pause, my hands fidgeting with thin air. I stare at James, seeing in him my glimmer of hope, my chance to finally access the past I’ve so desperately longed for. “Did – do you know me . . . know who I am?”
His expression softens. “Yes, I do.” He pauses as though considering his words, then he says, “We were – are together.”
I stare at him in shock. “Together? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
He smiles. It reaches all the way up to his dark eyes. “Yeah, you could call us that.”
And my blood begins to boil, so hot I can barely contain all the rage bubbling up inside me. All I see is red. “So where the hell have you been for the last four weeks?” I yell.
James’ face jolts in shock.
“I woke up on that beach on my own with no memory of who I am! I was all alone! Why haven’t you come for me before now? Four weeks! FOUR BLOODY WEEKS!” I pause, chest heaving, my eyes hot with tears. Then I remember the nurses and other patients, and quickly rein in my anger.
The room is silent to the echo. Questions are uncontrollably spooling through my mind. James looks like he’s not sure what to do and Isabel is stood there looking bored and untouched by my outburst. Finally I speak, in a voice now barely registering above a whisper, addressing James, “Why didn’t you come for me sooner? Didn’t . . . didn’t you want me anymore?”
“Of course I wanted you!” He clutches his head. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He comes around the bed toward me but I back away from him. He stops in his tracks, hurt etched all over his face, but I’m too consumed by my own grief to care. “I didn’t know where you were,” he says, his voice quiet, regretful. “And I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all of this, Luce, really I am, but there was nothing I could do. One minute you were there, the next you were gone.”
He fixes his pained eyes on mine and they’re so intense I feel like they’re burning into me, but even still, I can’t seem to look away. “If I had known where you were I would have jumped on a plane and come here straight away, I swear to you.”
And that’s when I notice his accent. English. Like they said mine is. “Plane?” I repeat, confused.