It’s good to walk after being stuck in a conversation with Chantel.

Gentle snowflakes kiss my cheeks, melting against my freckles as I keep a good pace. I may not remember some things but Gareth and I spent a lot of time at his house. I know that much. He kept a lot of work there for some reason. He always said it made him feel safer.

The brick sidewalk is uneven beneath my feet, and I nearly trip as I turn onto his street, the road lined on either side with narrow wooden houses connected by electric wires. Each house is unique in its own way, and the cream-colored square front of Gareth’s is to my right. I cross the street to get there.

I leap up the porch steps, standing on faded white painted wood as I take a bracing breath before knocking on his dark wood door. There is a bay window beside me with curtains closed tight. I peek through anyway, my hand pressed against the glass to keep the light of day from hindering my view. There are the thinnest of cracks between each curtain, and beyond, nothing but darkness.

So much for my grand apology.

I plop down on the top step of his porch, looking out at the few snowflakes tumbling from the sky. My gaze drops to the fraying porch steps, and a memory tickles my brain. I reach beneath the step and skim my hand along the underside of the wood until my fingertips dance along cool metal… and something sticky.

“Yes!” I whisper as I pull the key off of the adhesive, grinning like an idiot at the dull silver object.

I remember now. Gareth and I both hid secret keys outside our houses but we always spent our time here in his office. I never had the chance to show him where mine was hidden. At least I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

I press my palms into the ground and lift to my feet, shoving the key into his front door and jiggling it, meeting a little resistance before it turns, the door giving way. The inside of his house is warm, and it smells like leather and wood cleaner and books. I stand in the doorway, unsure if I should proceed. As a friend, I had access to the place but since waking up, everyone in my life is such a stranger.

I’m an intruder, and I don’t like the sensation.

I take a step forward in spite of my reservations, and the wood floor creaks beneath my feet. The first floor is spacious, decorated with chocolate leather sofas in his living room with a kitchen straight back. There is a staircase to my right leading to a floor with a couple of bedrooms, and my mind goes foggy as I try to picture them. Maybe I never went up there.

I take another step, gaining confidence as I move further inward, trying to search my mind for any semblance of sense. Hopefully being here will waken some memories. I stare hard at everything in the room: the sofas, the walls, the enormous mounted television.

There’s a book case against the other wall, and I walk over to it, scanning his collection. It’s a lot of computer books, some travel guides, some biographies. Nothing particularly exciting. My mind wanders up the stairs – is there anything up there that might help me remember?

I take the stairs one at a time, walking carefully even though there is no one to hear me. I shouldn’t feel the need to sneak as it is. I knew where his secret key was. There is a reason for that. We’re friends.

I reach the top of the staircase, and I’m met with a long hallway with doors on either side. There’s a bathroom that happens to be incredibly gross. There are towels everywhere, the floor is littered with stains I don’t want to think about. Is this why he never had me come up here? To hide his grossness? Then again, if we were in a relationship, I had to have known this side to him, right?

Maybe that’s why I ended it. If that’s what I did.

I picture Isaac’s pristine bathroom next to this one, and my stomach clenches at the thought of him. I should have played it way cooler. I should have done literally anything but what I did, sneaking out, bolting from the building as far away from his rock-hard chest as I could go, for reasons I don’t even understand.

I continue walking, holding my breath against the musty smell of the bathroom. Fortunately for me, it doesn’t extend past that door, and the scent of wood and cotton bedding meets me instead. There are two bedrooms up here, one on the left and one on the right. I decide to enter the one on the right, where an unmade bed holds court between two bedside tables and a dresser papered with documents.

There’s a picture on one of the smaller tables, and my curiosity wins out. I cross the room, stepping over a pile of clothing here and there—seriously, was he always this big of a slob?—and lift the picture, taking a closer look at it.

It’s an image of Gareth with his arm around another man, the two of them smiling from youthful faces. They’re standing behind a truck, maybe one used for moving large items. I don’t remember much about Gareth’s past. It looks like he might have been a mover in a previous life, the man next to him sharing many of the same features. It has to be his brother.

Yes. Somewhere deep down I know that’s exactly who it is. And I think I know him. I turn the picture in my hands, trying to see it from different angles, like that will shake out information from my brain that I can’t access.

“I think breaking and entering is illegal, last I checked.”

I jump at the sound of Gareth’s voice behind me, setting the picture down on the table as I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the door, looking almost predatory as his eyes comb over me, standing in his bedroom, looking at a picture.

Yikes.

“Sorry, Gareth. I just wanted to see you.”

His dark eyebrow lifts at this admission, and his expression softens as he steps into the room to join me. “You did?”

I step forward to meet him, fighting the embarrassment coursing through my veins at getting caught here. I stand just a few feet away from him, not wanting to overstep my bounds more than I have already. I lift the key in my hand, holding it up to show him how I got in.

“I remember this much,” I say, holding it out to him.

Our fingertips brush as he takes the key back, and I feel nothing. How could I have been in a relationship with this guy? It makes no sense that I would endanger our friendship in that way.

He places a hand on my arm, his eyes searching mine. “What’s going on with you, Scarlett? Really?”

“I just…” I start, and to my horror, I choke on a sob. I collect myself, sitting on his dirty, unmade bed as I allow my face to fall into my hands. “I just need to find answers!” I sob into my palms, my voice muffled as my breath bounces back into my own face.

“To what?” he prompts, and the mattress bends as he sits beside me, his hand rubbing my back. This is supposed to be comforting but it’s not. I look up at him, my eyes wide as I dump out everything.

“I woke up a few days ago not even knowing that four months had passed. All of that information is gone. Why those four months? They seem to be the most important ones, given that I can’t remember a time where I found information that was sensitive enough for someone to come after me. I can’t even remember how I got into that warehouse, how the fire was started. There’s just an empty space covering something incredibly dangerous, and on top of that, apparently we were in a relationship and I can’t remember that either!”

He’s listening intently, as a good friend would, letting me vent. When I look up at him, his eyes caress my face before he pulls me against him, holding me close. I hug him tightly, grasping at straws. I want to feel anchored. I want to feel whole again.

“I’m sorry, Gareth. I’m sorry for anything I’ve done in the past few days that might have hurt you. I have no idea what I might be doing. I’m just so lost.”

A hot tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and he pulls back, wiping it away with his thumb.

“It’s going to be all right, Scarlett. We’re going to find the bad guys together, just you and me. Working together just like we always do.”

His thumb continues to caress my face as his eyes do the same, landing squarely on my mouth. I realize what he’s about to do, and a wave of panic courses through me as he leans down, preparing to press his lips against mine. I turn my face at the last minute, ducking the advance. His body goes stiff next to me, and I pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, for a lack of anything better to say.

Why am I apologizing to him? Why? I thought we were friends. This weird romantic element is freaking me out.

Gareth stands, not looking at me, his eyes on the floor. “I think you should go.” His voice is like steel. I’ve hurt him again, without meaning to.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Even as I ask it, I know my feelings are valid. I owe Gareth precisely nothing. I don’t care what we may have been to each other.

“Gareth, you have always been a good friend to me–” I say but he cuts me off.

“I said you should go.”

His tone brooks no argument, and I decide to trespass against him no longer. I nod, wiping a cool tear from my cheek as I walk past him without looking back. I take the stairs two at a time, desperate to get out and away from this encounter. Between Gareth and Chantel, I can’t tell who I’ve been more uncomfortable around.

As these are the only two friends back in my life after the accident, I find this deeply disconcerting. I’m tempted to look up the stairs to see if Gareth is watching me leave but I don’t. I open the close the door behind me, the ground dusty with a thin lair of slippery snow as I walk carefully back down the street in the direction of my own house.

As I walk, hot tears burn my eyes again, and I allow them to fall, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. I remember laughing with Gareth, his warm smile rich and full of life. In contrast to the dark glower, the finality of his statement; it’s clear I’ve officially lost a friend.

How many more people am I going to lose because of the actions of some lunatic? And what happens if I lose myself along the way?