Through The Ash

Floating in Fog

Held on? To me? To him? My stomach twisted. Who was I in his story? Victim, accomplice, memory placeholder? I couldn't imaging someone who loved depression. I mean, could it even be true? Any of it?

He paused. His blue eyes—too sharp, too bright—scanned me like he was trying to read me. I hated that I almost wanted him to succeed. "She never quite got over me. First love, you know? Always at my football games, cheering... even made Avery jealous. But Rain? She never really cared about anyone but me. She was loyal, you know. Um, but she did have issues. Too many for me to deal with but I tried. I really did try to be good to her, but not everyone's receptive to help."

"Except when we broke up... she seemed... different. Spiraling. I hope she wouldn't do anything like this on purpose—but she has a record. And her mom? Only adds to the history of crazy. Maybe you should check that. I wouldn't be surprised if either one of them did it."

My hands clenched. Record? History of crazy? Was he describing me, my mom, himself—or just a story he wanted someone to believe? My head throbbed with fragments: laughter, shouts, a door slamming. Or maybe none of it. Was I crazy? Was he lying?

Figaro asked something, but it sounded muffled, distant. I watched Liam's subtle movements—the twist of his hand, the way his shoulders eased when he mentioned Bianca. Was he protective? Guilty? Dangerous? I couldn't tell.

When the detective finished interviewing Liam, someone else came in for a moment—a uniformed officer of some kind.

I couldn't catch what he said, but I saw the exchange... the officer handed the detective some necklace sealed in a ziplock bag, and the detective passed him a sheet of paper in return.

The officer left, and another man came in. Older, lean, wearing a plain gray T-shirt, brown hair cut short. I didn't recognize him, but the detective shook his hand firmly.

INTERVIEW 002
SUBJECT: NELSON
Location: Faethorne Hospital – Room 003
Interviewer: Detective Figaro
Case Reference: Arson / Assault – Apartment Incident

"Hello, Nelson," the detective said.

"Please, give me a minute of your time. I'll be straightforward. Based on some of the information I have here..." His voice dropped low, slow and careful, "...I know things at home weren't what people would call great."

Nelson laughed—a short, easy sound—but it didn't reach me. Something in it was empty. "I mean, what family is? I never saw anything more than the usual though."

The usual. My chest hitched. The usual. Nothing more than the usual? That wasn't what Liam said. Liam's words clawed at me—crazy, spiraling, dangerous. So which one of them was telling the truth? My head ached from the effort of trying to remember faces, voices, events that weren't even mine—or were they?

"Explain 'usual' to me," Figaro prompted.

"Just the usual family stuff. We go to work. Sherman and Rain would go to school until she graduated. He was really excited to have a new sister. He talks about her all the time. Sometimes we visited my mom in Nevada, but never with Rain."

Sherman? My new brother? My mind stalled. I tried to reach for something—any fragment—but the edges of memory dissolved the moment I thought I caught them. Who was he? Who was I to him? Why didn't I remember any of this?

"Why not?" Figaro asked.

"She moved. I'd just been getting settled, really. I never planned to stay, but—"

"Would Rain visit?"

"I'm sure she was planning on it," Nelson said. "But I know she snagged a job at the Blackout Press. And, well... adulting is hard. Things don't come easy. When the bird flies from the nest it takes a while until it finds its way back."

The words wrapped around me and slipped away, like smoke through fingers. Adulting? Blackout Press? Birds flying? They made sense, then didn't. My chest ached for... I didn't know. Clarity? Confirmation? Something human?

"Just your normal loving family... from what you could see," Figaro said, soft.

Nelson's voice sharpened, quick, protective. "If you're insinuating my fiancée had anything to do with this, then—"

"No," Figaro interrupted gently. "I'm just trying to piece together a life that currently has no voice. I think that's what matters most. Don't you?"

It hit me like a stone in my chest. No voice. I had no voice. I had nothing—no past, no grip, only floating fragments I was supposed to trust.

"Life was good," Nelson said after a pause. "I guess you could say she was troubled, but what teenager isn't? Kids are mean. They keep secrets. And I bet it was a kid who did it. If it was, then... well... good luck to you. Kids are good at keeping their lies close."

His words bounced around my head. Secrets. Lies. Good luck. Was he talking about me? Was he warning someone? Or warning me? I wanted to grab him, shake him, ask him to tell me everything—but my body wouldn't answer. I was weightless, soundless, invisible.

"You think Rain had secrets?" Figaro asked quietly.

"Yes. All kids have secrets. Didn't you? When you were eighteen?"

"I didn't become a detective because I was good at deceiving people," the detective said. "I've never been a good liar. Though I know what you mean." Papers rustled. "I think I've got what I need from you. Thank you for coming in. And congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you," Nelson said, rising from the chair. "Have a good night. Please keep us updated.

I floated there a while longer, hovering between the memory I had no claim to and the one I would have to earn back. Liam, Nelson... maybe neither. Maybe both. Maybe the truth wasn't a single shape I could hold.

I wondered if it was normal to feel like this—like my whole life was a set of cracked mirrors, each reflection showing someone I didn't recognize. Every face, every word they spoke, made me smaller, like I was shrinking into a space that wasn't mine.

I was supposed to be Rain—the daughter, the friend, the sister—but none of it fit anymore. Nothing felt real. Maybe it never had.

Maybe I was just a fraud in my own skin, a stranger pretending to be someone I used to be.

My memories were missing, my past was borrowed, and everyone else seemed to know the script except me.

And the worst part? I didn't even know if I wanted to get it back, or if I was already someone else entirely—someone fragile, someone broken, someone who had to start over without a map.