Chapter 3
Boston
She didn’t come. Not that night. Not the next day. Not when I got moved to a different room. Time ticked on—slow, torturous. There was an urgency within me I couldn’t shake. It ate at me, feeding the mysterious fury within. I found myself snapping at the nurses and anyone who got too close. Even Joy, my mother, neglected stopping by for the last two days, seeming to get the hint.
I wanted Lucy back. I wanted her here so I could see her. The fact that she wasn’t drove me to a brink of insanity I couldn’t deal with. Hate. It was streaming through what should have been a positive time for me. I was alive. It was encouraging to the alternative. But was life really worth living if she wasn’t in it? The question raged a battle within. It seemed unfathomable, and contemplation didn’t help. There was no debate. Lucy needed to be with me. She needed to be at my side where I could see her. Hadn’t I always kept her close? Watching? Wanting her? Never far from her side?
My damaged mind told me I had. If she wasn’t so important, why was she the only person I remembered? The only face I could recall? Sure, scenes of blurry images came—violent dreams of torturing men—but they were irrelevant compared to her significance.
“Dammit!”
I reached over, grabbing the landline receiver. The intense emotions heightened as I stared at the phone, confused over what to do. How the phone worked was common knowledge, but when it came to her number or last name…nothing.
The slam echoed through the room as I hung up, and my finger immediately went to the call button.
“Yes?”
“I need help.”
“Is there a problem, Mr. Marks?”
“Yeah. Send someone.”
I put the phone back on the end table and turned to stand at the window. Over the last few weeks while in therapy, I learned to walk again. It might not have been very far—I sure as hell wasn’t going to be running a marathon anytime soon—but I was getting better. Stronger.
“Mr. Marks?”
A young nurse walked in and visions of…someone blinded me. Teeth broke under a punch. My punch? The colors were flickering so fast. The tip of a knife cut into a woman’s chest and the pressure of her skin splitting registered in my hand. I dragged the dull blade, seeing the blood and smearing it over her breast as I turned to smile at someone. The resistance against the multiple layers of skin vibrated my digits as I started again. My muscles were flexing and straining through the cutting.
“Mr. Marks?”
I blinked in quick succession. The vision wasn’t right. It had always been men. Never women. I protected women. Or…I felt I did.
Sweat covered my skin and pain throbbed in my head. “I need a phone number. I can’t remember what it is.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A phone number,” I snapped. “Amnesia, remember? I need Lucy’s phone number.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“Jesus, woman, I don’t know. Lucy. Blonde-haired Lucy. Young. Lucy. Her brother is Jeff. Lucy. Lucy! I need her fucking phone number.”
“Calm down, son. It’s pointless.” My mother walked in, waving the scared nurse out. Her voice was stern, yet soft, but I didn’t miss her underlying fear.
“What the hell do you mean pointless? Where’s Lucy? How do I get ahold of her?”
“Is she so important to you?”
I breathed through the desire to surge forward and jerk her up so she’d see how serious I was. Being separated from Lucy wasn’t working. I couldn’t do this. Not a day more. Not an hour more. Not even a fucking second.
“Yes. She is. The most important thing in the world to me. I want to see her. I need to speak with her. What’s Lucy’s last name? What’s her number?”
“And so it continues.” The words were barely a murmur. She shook her head in disbelief, rubbing her fingers over her eyes. “Like I said, it’s pointless. They don’t have a phone.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they have a phone?”
“My guess is money. They don’t have a lot. Boston, we need to talk about Lucy.”
“What about her?”
“I think it’s probably not a good idea to contact her. Jeff doesn’t want Lucy around you. I think something bad happened, and it had nothing to do with the accident. Have you remembered anything else?”
“No.” Shrugging my shoulders, I eased back over to the edge of the bed. “Truthfully, Mom, I don’t give a shit about Jeff or what happened between us. I want Lucy. You have to go get her.”
A laugh of astonishment sounded, and still, I fought that urge to drive in my point. Why was she not understanding? Why was no one seeing how much I needed her?
“Boston, Lucy always comes around. I bet she’s busy. If that’s the case, we should probably leave her alone.”
“You tell me that one more time…” My teeth ground together and I closed my eyes to calm the edgy sensation. “Listen to me. Listen good. I. Need. Her. Here.”
Hesitation followed her stiffening. My brain wasn’t focusing. I couldn’t cope, and I didn’t understand why. The only thing I knew was if she wasn’t close to me soon, I’d butcher anyone who got in my way of finding her.
“All right. Fine.” Defeat showed as she glared at the floor. “I guess I could swing by her house on my way home.”
“Thank you.” Like water to fire, calmness rolled through. “How much longer do I have to stay here? I’m ready to go home. I’m fine.”
Putting her purse down, my mother sat in the chair by the wall. I blinked repeatedly, searching through my memories. “Wait…where do I live?”
“Your things are in the guest house. With your condition, I was able to break your lease. You wanted to move out of that old apartment anyway. I thought it was a good opportunity.”
“Right. Good. Tell me about Lucy. What is she like? How old is she? Are we together?”
Another laugh from my mother—one that almost sounded…sad. “Oh, honey.” She straightened in the chair. “No, you’re not together. She’s barely eighteen. I think you wanted to wait until you felt she was ready.”
“She’s ready. How old am I?”
A pause. More fear? “Twenty-four next month.” Her hand rose, flattening for me to slow while it slightly bounced. She was silent. Almost beyond words. “I have to be honest with you. This is the most open you’ve been with me about Lucy, so I’m trying to adjust. I knew, but…you’re different now. You used to talk to someone about this—about her. You met him a few weeks ago when you first woke up. Dr. Patron. He had white hair. Do you remember him?”
“Yeah, but not who he is.” The last part was mumbled, the realization that my behavior was off eliciting the urge to rein in the overwhelming thoughts. I shouldn’t be talking. Deep inside, instinct told me that.
“Boston, are you okay?
“Am I so different than before?”
She nodded, her features drawing in. “Like night and day. You speak your mind now. You say what you’re thinking. You’ve never done that before. Had you not had a major breakdown at twelve, I may have never even known about Lucy.”
“Breakdown? What are you talking about?”
Her lips pursed. “You were a quiet child. Very watchful of everything. I’m pretty quiet, so I always just assumed you took after me. When you were twelve, your dad said you had to stop spending so much time at Jeff’s house. You were never home. We hardly ever got to see you. We were worried. Even when we brought you home, you’d run away, back to their house. When you were twelve, you…pulled a knife on your father while we were sleeping. You threatened his life. Even cut him while you had the blade to his throat. You said you couldn’t leave her. Her. Not him, as in Jeff. We found Dr. Patron after that.”
My eyes widened, but it didn’t surprise me. I knew what was inside, even if I didn’t understand it. “Mom, I do need to see Lucy. I have to. It’s…I can’t explain it. You just have to get her. I’m begging you.”
“I’ll go by on my way home. Maybe I’ll even talk to Jeff. I would really like the two of you to patch things up. I don’t like this tension. I feel like something happened. Something very bad.”
Dread. Slight trembling. She was afraid of me…or what I was capable of.
“Well, nothing happened. Jeff…he hasn’t been right for some time. I can’t…remember, but…he’s not okay. He’s not good.”
“No, he’s not. I’ve always known that.”
“Tell me more about Lucy.”
A deep breath left Joy. “Later. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take right now. Let’s talk about something else. What about school? I’m assuming you’ll be taking your last semester off?”
“School?”
“You attend classes at Northeastern. Media and Screen Studies. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Screen. Films. I make movies.” Colors swirled, coming together as an axe swung toward me. I was holding a camera, moving with the flow so I could avoid the blade. A man my age with dirty blond hair…he was angry. Yelling. Blood. He was covered in blood. Memories of the men hit hard. “That’s right,” I said lowly. “I make films.”
Pieces came together. All the blood. All the chaos that manifested in my mind. The camera set up in the corner of the cabin’s bedroom as I removed chunks of skin. Movies.
“I’m assuming you’re going to wait, right?”
There was no thought required. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying here with Lucy.”
“Boston…” My mother rung her hands in her lap. “You have to realize Lucy has free will. She has a choice. What if she doesn’t want what you do? You have to face that, because although you may feel strongly for her, she may not feel the same way. If she doesn’t—”
Denial had my head shaking. “No. She’s the only one I can remember. There has be something. I…love her. And she loves me. She has to.”
“She may not. Especially if you’ve never told her. I don’t mean to make you upset, son. I worry for you. But I want you to be prepared. Nothing may ever happen between you.”
Rage shot through me for reasons I couldn’t understand. The need to attack was there, but I held firm to the urge. “She loves me. Lucy loves me. She fucking loves me, and I love her, and that’s the end of it.”
Silence.
“All right. Maybe she does. Maybe you’re right. You’re very upset, so we’re done talking about it. You’re having a hard time with not remembering anything, and I should give you some space. I’ll go by and ask Lucy to come see you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Standing, my mother put her purse strap back over her shoulder. As she turned to leave, I felt myself wanting to follow. Desperation was edging back in. What if Lucy didn’t come? What if…what if she wouldn’t see me? What if she didn’t love me like I loved her? No. She did. But what if she didn’t come? I needed alternatives—other ways to get ahold of her if this failed.
“What’s her last name?”
My mother stopped at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Adams. Lucy Adams.” With that, she closed the barrier behind her. The knowledge surged through me like I’d won some sort of prize. I had her name, and she could never hide. She could never disappear without me being able to track her down. How did I know these things, yet not know anything about myself? There were so many questions, but ones I didn’t care to decipher. My mind had only a single concern, and it wasn’t for myself.