The Memory Keeper

Chapter 25

He looked to his right, and then swiped his hand at someone neither Natalie or Piper could see. "STOP IT!" He cowered back, stumbling into the desk chair, knocking it on its side, and sobbed into the back of his hand, "You aren't real." He braced his hand to the window and then looked up. Fog rolled over the trees, pressing against the glass, revealing his crestfallen expression in the pane. He stood straight, eyes widening, and slowly turned around.

Natalie and Piper had pressed their shoulders together, either in apprehension or support, neither could tell. At last Natalie softly cleared her throat.

"Good morning, Mr. Sheinfeld. We are back."

He stared at her like she was a ghost conjured by a middle person. Slowly his expression turned sour, and when he answered, his tone was cynical and sharper than a knife. "You aren't real."

Piper put a hand in front of Natalie, for the mind weaver meant to run and perhaps coddle him, then said, "Peter, this is Natalie Gorman, here to help you. If you do not let her help you, you will only feel worse and hallucinate even further." When this did not seem to help, she asked, "Do you have more of those letters I asked you to write?"

But Peter was only looking at Natalie, and his hands trembled. When he came closer, the mind weaver shrank back a little. She did not want to end up like that chair. He did not grab her or hit her, but took her hands softly, looking down at them like they were small birds. Then he swept his gaze between her eyes. "You really are here. You are real."

Before she could say anything, he pressed his mouth to hers.

The chill left her body, leaving her warm, her nerves skittering about like leaves kicked from a pile. She felt herself kiss back, before she pulled away, unsure if Peter had meant to do that, seeing as he was not in his right mind. Then... She was not in her right mind, either. She had hallucinated Peter in the Coldton train station.

Piper rubbed her hands together. "Well, then, how about those letters, Mr. Sheinfeld?"

He nodded. This close, the dark circles under his somber eyes were evident, and his skin was pallid, whereas before Natalie would have called it sun-kissed.

"Did you lose your job?" she whispered.

Without answering, he rifled through the drawers in the desk until he produced a brown envelope, so overly stuffed, the seams looked ready to come undone, despite having been tied with some thread. He walked back over, holding it out for Piper to take. "I wrote as much as I still could, that is to say, what I could still remember."

The witch stuffed the bundle under her arm. "Perfect." She nodded toward Natalie. "On with it, then, you two. I am starving, and I don't mean just for food. How about the monotonous routine I was used to before you waltzed in with your brilliant ideas." Her voice dripped with sarcasm over the last two words.

The mind weaver turned, but Piper was looking at Peter. What did she mean by 'brilliant ideas'? "Peter," she said, "did you make these clocks?"

There was a moment, in which the young man had to look around before realizing what room they were in. His smile hinted a little pride. "I do not mean to disappoint you, but I only made a few of them, not all. Most were made by my sister."

***

Surprise detonated in her stomach. "You have a sister?"

He looked at her as though the question were as odd as having been asked what his name was. But just as quickly, the look vanished. "Well, had." He put his hands in his pockets and looked around, nodding, as though indeed they all were his creations.

"What do you mean?" Natalie asked. "What happened?"

Piper fingered one of the loose seams in the envelope. "Should we not discuss this at a later time?" When the women met each other's eyes, the witch pointed at the clocks, raising her eyebrows. She mouthed the words 'Three days!'