“She remembers.” My chest goes still.
“She?” I repeat. The words echo in my head and it pulls at something. A name. Right there at the tip of my tongue, then it’s gone. What the fuck! This is fucking ridiculous. Zoe keeps popping into my mind because, well, we lost her, and now we have Rowyn. My chosen one, who is currently in her room breaking. Then it dawns on me. Is it Rowyn in the picture? No, it can’t be, there’s no connection. None at all. Whatever this is—whoever this is—is old and buried, possibly even dead. It has nothing to do with Rowyn, and I really don’t feel it’s Zoe. The eyes are too light to be hers. My gaze drops down to the picture. Then I darken the screen and shove the phone into my pocket, burying it again like I do everything else. That’s how this works. That’s the whole point, you bury it. Move on and don’t go digging.
Suddenly, the garage door opens, the cold air drifts in, slapping me in the back of my neck like a warning I’m not paying attention to.
“Kade,” Elliot shouts, and I spin, looking at him. “Tell me you got it too?” he asks, and I take a deep breath.
“Got what?” And his jaw flexes. Zero patience for bullshit I see. He steps closer, letting the door swing closed. He pulls out his phone and holds it up. The picture. Of course. So I nod. “Yeah, I gotit.” And he studies me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m lying or not.
“What do you remember?” he asks, and I sigh.
“Enough,” I answer, and he huffs,
“That’s not helpful, Kade,” he spits through clenched teeth.
“Wasn’t meant to be,” I say, but he doesn’t say anything. He steps closer. Of course he does. This is what he does.
“I talked to them,” he says, and I don’t ask who because I already know. “Our dads have seen the picture before,” he says, and that has my hand tightening against the wooden bench I’m standing in front of. Not surprised though—just annoyed. “They said something happened that day, something we weren’t supposed to remember,” he says, and I let out a breath slowly.
“Sounds about right,” I answer, and his eyes narrow.
“What do you remember, Kade?” I push off the bench, pacing near it, then drag my hand down my face. I don’t like this shit. I don’t want to repeat it. Ever. Saying it makes it real. I don’t want the memories to be real.
“I remember the crying,” I say finally, and the words just hang there. He doesn’t react just stands there.
“Yeah…” He trails off with a far away look, “I remember that too,” he says, and I nod.
“Gray was losing it, kept saying someone would hear.” Elliot nods again confirming it. That’s the problem though. We remember the same pieces which means they’re real. Which means the rest of it is too. “Then it stopped,” I finish, my voice dropping. Because that part. The part that feels wrong every time I think about it. Elliot exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s where mine cuts off,” he says.
“Same,” I let out a breath, the atmosphere in here is stifling, suffocating. “She remembers,” I whisper, and his head whips towards me.
“What?” But I don’t answer right away. I just grab my phone and toss it at him. He catches it with ease and the screen lights up. The message staring right back at him.She remembers. She remembers. She remembers.He leans in and his expression shifts. Not confusion, not disbelief. Something else that I can’t read. “What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“No idea,” I lie, not entirely, just not the whole truth. Because something in my chest tightens again, the same wrong recognition. The almost-there feeling. Elliot straightens, arms braced against the edge of the bench now.
“There wasn’t supposed to be a little girl,” he says, and I look at him. “Our dads said that.” And my eyes narrow. “They saidhewasn’t supposed to be there. So I’m guessing there is someone else in this scenario and he wasn’t supposed to show up, or what… I don’t fucking know,” he whispers, and we both look at the picture again, at the little girl sitting behind us like she belongs there. Like she was a part of us. Elliot’s jaw tightens and he takes a deep breath. “If we didn’t forget, then someone made us,” he spits, and I glance towards the garage door. Like someone is standing on the other side listening. Waiting.
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone screwed with us,” I say, but this isn’t that, and we both know it. Elliot pushes off the bench, dragging his hand over his face.
“There’s more,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“I got a message with it right after.”
“What did it say?” And he holds my gaze for a second.
“You forgot.” And a slow cold smile pulls at my mouth. Not because this is funny but because this fits too well. My eyes flick back to my phone to the word ‘she.’
“Yeah,” I say as Elliot watches me, waiting, but I don’t give him anything else—not yet. Instead, I head for the door, not saying a word.
“Where the fuck are you going?” he asks, and I turn to look at him.
“Out!” I deadpan.
“To do what?”
