The light warms my chilled cheeks. I stare at my reflection in the gold, my mouth dropping open in awe of the shimmering iridescence before me.
My arm extends, my fingers reaching, my eyes widening as the gold orb flexes, morphing into its own hand that mirrors mine. I pause with my hand outstretched, my body and mind at war, but then, the gold winks and my lips curve slightly.
“Vivian Jones.”
My hand drops, and I whirl around, turning to face the voice behind me. The clearing becomes dark, and I glance behind me, frowning at the sudden darkness where the gold once hung suspended.
My frown deepens, a profound loss overwhelming me, then confusion. Anger.
Spinning around, I ask loudly, “Who’s there?”
At first, my question is met by an echoing silence. I look intently, my eyes flitting from one corner of shadows to another as I add in a much stronger voice than I feel, “Show yourself.”
Again, silence, but then a rustling along the path draws my focus. Slowly, a figure appears, not much larger than me. A girl, like me.
Fear rushes over me, and I have to force myself not to step back, not to flinch or show my true feelings to this stranger. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lift my chin and take a small step closer. “Who are you?”
The girl steps into the clearing, showing herself completely, the smile on her face chillingly sweet. “It’s me, Viv. Gemma.”
I make a face, my voice surprisingly level as I respond, “I don’t know you.”
Gemma rolls her eyes, a slight edge to the humor reflected there as she retorts, “Of course you do, silly. I’m your sister.”
I cock my head, frowning slightly. My brain twitches in my skull, a loud vibration making me stoop over, clutching my head between my hands as I whisper, “I don’t have a sister.”
Gemma’s hand presses between my shoulders, coldness seeping in as she leans closer until her face is right next to mine. “You do now.”
I shiver and attempt to straighten, but pain jackknifes through my head, and my hands grip my skull tighter. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” I choke on the word, wanting to throw her hand off me, but finding my feet anchored to the ground. The agony reaches a crescendo, my entire body tensing, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the pressure, barely managing to stay on my feet.
“Yes,” Gemma repeats in my ear. The word echoes, reverberates, and boomerangs through my psyche, a chain reaction of bolts shifting and realigning.
Then the pain stops.
Tentatively, I lower my hands.
Slowly, I straighten.
Blinking into the darkness, I take a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and turn toward the shifting figure beside me.
I smile, sudden adoration rushing over me. “Gemma. Thank goodness you found me.”
TWENTY
THE HUNTER AND THE HUNTED
Vivian
Somehow, I did end up taking a short nap.
I wake with this crazy sense of foreboding, as if my brain is slowly trying to work itself around to a reality unknown to me. I allow myself to hover in that grey space between sleep and wakefulness, watching as little blips of my earlier life float in and out of my consciousness. I reach for some, stretching my memories for some semblance of familiarity, yet coming up blank.
Something is missing, just out of reach.
Giving up, I take a quick shower to wash away the residual grogginess, and then get myself a snack and a drink before lazing around on the sofa, binge-watching reality television. Usually, this is an effective coping mechanism when I’m attempting to avoid making important life decisions, but I fear no amount of disassociating will get my mind off this latest revelation.
