Gynn Mysteries - The Romeo Effect (On Hold)

Chapter 12

It's a memory. It drifts into the mind like any other memory. Triggered by a smell, by a moment, by a familiar item. A memory or a mirage in the desert, for it could be completely made up. A supplanting to cover some trauma. It might be real. Memory is as true as the passage of time will allow.

It was a small memory. Warm and comforting, like inhaling your mother's scent as she hugs you tight and close, before adding a gentle kiss to your forehead to chase away the pain.

"Lena."

"Yes?"

"Would  you like an ice cream?"

  "Yahhhh."

She was four or maybe five, sitting on a bench. Tiny legs daggling on a park bench. Tiny hands clapping at the excitement of an ice cream not wished for.

"Okay, stay there."

"O-k."

The park was filled with people. The sun was bright. She looked up and it was hot against her skin and in her tiny chest a feeling she would not understand until older, a feeling that would sprout the memory.

"Here you go, little one."

"Thank you."

Her smile was like the sun. The woman who handed her the ice cream was not her mother. She was a beautiful red-headed princess. She sat on the bench and pointed to a pigeon. The memory was safe. The memory was hers. The ice cream was cold and sweet. The princess made her laugh. It was a lovely gift wrapped memory she kept.

A flash of bright white light pulsed between the memory.

Carefully, the paper of the memory was rewrapped. The memory like all memories dissipated like the fog. It was a good memory. A tiny, but good memory.

The darkness gave way to a throbbing, white hot pain.

Lena's eyes flung opened. The world was spinning. There was a pain. There was the light smell of blood. There was more pain.

"Don't."

She groaned.

"Please stop trying to touch it."

The searing pain was followed by a sting that set her teeth on edge.

"I know it hurts. Can stop struggling for two minutes?"

The voice was so distant. It sounded like it was coming down through a tunnel, but at the end of it was only more darkness.

Lena opened her eyes, carefully this time and groaned. Her body felt stiff as she tried to sit up.

"Wait. I said not to move."

The room was spinning and there was an odd snapping sound.

"I wish you could lay still. Come on, how many fingers?"

"Does that really do anything," Lena asked, struggling to lean against the armrest of the couch.

Strong hands helped to settle her.

The fingers returned to her sight, "How many?"

"Geezzuuuss. Four. Four, okay?" she said, groggily.

"Yea. That's good."

She rubbed her eyes. When she looked round she saw Deacon  walking over to one of her filing cabinets. He pulled opened the top drawer and held up a bottle.