I'm whisked away on an unwanted vacation.
I should have known something grand was coming. I should have known that Grayson wouldn't waste his few days. I had been fittingly suspicious of his choice of memory recreation these past days. We had done nothing more than play board games. Each night he took out seven different games, but we never made it past Chest: A game which Grayson had no clue how to play, and continuously made-up rules. Call us childish, but it didn't take long for an argument to erupt and in no time the board was flipped. Chest pieces flew across the living room. Who did the flipping? That's really not important... Leaving the scattered pieces, both times we immediately stood from our seats, bid ourselves goodnight with glares and went straight to our own rooms.
Last night's session finishing especially early, he had gone to bed at seven. Lights off and in his pyjamas; it meant he was actually going to sleep. No late-night memory planning. In my few days at the Ryder's not once had he succumbed to sleep before the time could be considered early morning.
"Grayson," I had warned. "It's been two days." The deal was three days.
"I know."
He didn't even pause. He crawled into bed, paying my worry no attention. I watched him from his doorway with narrowed eyes.
"The deal was three days," I reminded.
"I know."
"What are you planning?" I wasn't buying his nonchalance.
"Alex, I'm just tired."
"It's seven."
He shrugged. "I've barely slept all week. It's caught up to me is all. Nothing for you to worry about."
Tapping my foot impatiently, knowing he was hiding something, Grayson flipped on his side. He shot me a sincere look.
"I won't disturb your sleep," he assured. "I don't break promises."
My eyes remained squinted suspiciously.
"Goodnight, Alexa," he chuckled, waving me away.
It was not a good night. I didn't believe a single promise Grayson had made, and my paranoia proved to be warranted.
I had expected a loud musical outburst and an overly cheerful teenage boy. I did not expect to wake in anything other than my bed. Blindfolded and strapped to some strange contraption, from the excessive bouncing and hum of an engine, I concluded that I was in a car. Drowsy from sleep and overwhelmed with foreignness, I fought against the strap on my chest and ripped at the fabric on my eyes. It was very unlike me, but I couldn't help but panic.
Left arm searching my surroundings, I hit something hard before my other hand had successfully removed the blindfold.
"Ow!" Grayson complained.
Sun shining bright through the windshield, I squinted at him. Very slowly coming to terms with the situation, concluding that the strap had been my seat belt and the blindfold my sleeping mask, as grogginess dissolved my fists grew tighter.
"What. The. Hell?" I finally demanded in between huffs of breath. I pushed Grayson again, this time harder.
"Stop that," he complained, rubbing his shoulder achingly. "It's about time you woke up. It's been a real boring six hours."
"Six hours?!"
Grayson nodded eagerly. "And, six hours without music!"
Heart still stammering in my chest, hands trebling, I paid his remark little attention. I stared out the window, as I tried to control my breathing and slow the pounding pulse in my chest. Through the window's reflection, I saw Grayson shoot me a side-glance.
He winced the moment he understood.
"Shit," he muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sor—"
"It's fine," I interrupted starkly.
"No, it's not," he said softly. "I should have known better. I'm sorry...I'm a moron."
"Can't argue with that. Where are we going?" I was eager to change the subject.
"Stanley, Idaho. Home. I thought it might refresh some memories."
Still recovering from my episode of panic, I shot him a small smile in spite of myself. It was seemingly impossible to stay angry with him.
What was left of the drive was admittedly beautiful. Far from the city, rivers, forests, and mountains littered the land of my old home. It was breathtaking, scenery worthy of postcards. Most enjoyable, Grayson was silent. Wordlessly, he let me take in the view.
Speed slowing as we approached a small town, my stomach churned. Spotting the Stanley sign, I knew this used to be home. Part of me was ecstatic to see the town in which I'd grown, longing, praying that it would trigger some memories. But another part of me feared what I would learn.
Car coming to a stop as we pulled into someone's driveway, I glanced warily at Grayson. Most wouldn't arrive to an old friend's house uninvited, but I certainly didn't put it past him.
"I'm in my pyjamas," I protested.
"Would you have preferred I take the time to dress you?" he asked, with an arched brow.
Narrowing my eyes, I shoved him. "I am not going out like this."
"Your clothes are in the back," he chuckled, nodding his head towards the green suitcase in the backseat. "And, before you nag, my mother packed your bag. I thought you could change in the house."
I couldn't have cared less that Grayson had seen me in my sheep pyjamas, but I was not being introduced to long lost friends in this attire.
"Whose house?" I asked, eyeing the small home suspiciously. It was a beautiful home. Siding a dark brown, matching the vast oak trees surrounding the country home, it stood out against the dark roofing. Windows long and rectangular, natural light was most welcomed. The home itself was welcoming. Large front porch and flowerbed well kept; a beautiful porch swing swung by the front door.
While I was mesmerized by the home, Grayson shifted uncomfortably. That was never a good sign. Returning my attention his way, I dreaded his answer. He repositioned himself carefully, body angle towards mine as he regarded me with the look that I knew never brought good news. It was his please be reasonable look.
"It's totally up to you," he began apprehensively. Dear god, was this the president's getaway home? "I booked a hotel room just in case, but I thought you might like to stay here... It's your house."
Lips parting in surprise, brows shooting into my hairline, I fixed a second, more scrutinizing glance at the house. Focusing more intently on the front door, I noticed then the various items scattered on the welcome mat. Absentmindedly I exited the car, approaching the items with burning eyes. Going through the countless flowers, teddy bears and pictures, I was silent.
"There's boxes full inside, as well," Grayson said.
"People still drop things off?"
Grayson nodded. "It's a small town. Everyone was devastated."
"But it's been three years..."
"Doesn't make what happened any less devastating."
I nodded distractedly, following Grayson through the door.
While he unpacked the car, he gave me few minutes to explore the house. House empty as most of the furniture had been transported to a nearby locker unit, I tried to imagine what it once looked like. With every empty nail, I wondered what had once hung upon it. With every scratch on the wall or floor came the question of its cause. An old pet? An angry argument? A clumsy mishap that had brought multiple laughs? I longed to study every inch of the home. But it was all so much at once. Overwhelmed, throat tight, I didn't dare yet venture upstairs.
Noting Grayson's frequent, subtle glances at his watch, eventually I concluded that he had plans. Of course, he did. Though he was considerate enough to allow me the opportunity to properly acquaint myself with the home, I jumped at the chance of getting out. The home, the idea of what it had once been, had rapidly become suffocating.
"Are we running late for something?" I asked.
Looking up from his watch with surprise, he shook his head vigorously. "Take your time," he said. "This is more important."
"It's okay," I promised. "Let's do what you had planned."
His brows shot up in surprise. I was encouraging his memory recreations, encouraging time spent with him, he knew something was up. "But you haven't even gone upstairs yet."
"I'll have time tonight, right?"
"Of course."
"Then, I'd rather do it tonight."
The puzzled look on his face remained. He watched me for few moments before understanding. He nodded. "Let's go."
I had made a grave mistake. I shouldn't have delayed the emotional turmoil of facing my childhood home. This was much worse. I studied Stanley High's school entrance with immense horror.
"We don't have to go in, if it makes you uncomfortable," Grayson said gently, as the car had long been placed in park, but I had yet to make a move to stand.
Stanley High was just like any other school I had seen, only smaller. There was nothing unappealing or repulsive about the building. The banners and bright colors were inviting, but thinking of the awaiting forgotten teenagers, I panicked.
"I want to," I said truthfully. As much as the idea was unsettling, I couldn't deny my curiosity. "Do they even know we're coming?"
"No." Grayson winced, only now realising his mistake. "I thought it would be better to surprise them."
Shrinking in my seat, I watched him helplessly.
"I'll go in first," he decided. "I'll make sure they're well behaved."
Nodding feebly in agreement still I didn't move. I didn't move until Grayson opened my door, unbuckled my seatbelt, and pulled me to my feet.
"It'll be fine," he promised, pulling me through the parking, through the school entrance and towards the dreaded classroom.
Waiting outside as Grayson left to announce my arrival, I paced the small hallway. I had never liked meeting new people; meeting someone for the second time seemed so much worse. It paid me no reassurance that per Grayson's usual, he had unintentionally planned the reunion in a very dramatic manner. Alone to deal with the panic, the spotting of my memorial picture was nearly my last straw. I was more than tempted to run away, to never set foot in the school again, but Grayson's soft smile stopped me. Safely hidden in the hall, he was all I could see of the classroom. He greeted his excited peers with an equally excited smile.
Though I didn't recognize any of the voices, I took a step closer, hoping to hear them.
"You're looking good, Ryder," a boy called out sincerely. "It seems Cali was a good idea."
Grayson smiled again, lips parting to reply but too many voices erupting to answer.
"It's the first I've seen you genuinely happy, since—" another started.
"Logan!" a feminine voice interrupted.
"It's ok. Really," Grayson assured, struggling to find a way to deliver the news. Perhaps he'd never succeed to mention me, and I wouldn't have to face awkward introductions. I was surprised he hadn't already told them. Did he not have anyone's cell number?
"You're over it?" another girl asked, shrill-like.
"What?" Grayson spluttered. "No—"
Class erupting in a chaos of simultaneous voices, Grayson stammered hopelessly for many moments. It was so painful to watch, that I nearly considered walking through the class door unannounced. That would put an end to his misery. But it would only induce mine.
"About that," Grayson tried, voice slightly louder than the others. "She's waiting in—"
"Who?" Someone demanded.
"Is someone out there?"
"You brought a girl!" Another demanded outraged.
Huffing powerlessly as he once again loss control of the group, Grayson regarded me with pleading eyes, nodding his head as a cue to come to him.
As Grayson continued to nudge his head encouragingly, the class quieted, awaiting my entrance.
"I promised her you guys would behave," Grayson warned. "Please don't jump her."
Jump me? Those few steps left to the door suddenly became more difficult.
"We'll be good," the voice I recognized as Logan's laughed. "Your lack of—"
Shyly stepping into the room, his words halted abruptly. I noted a pale blond with an afro, mouth hanging open, and assumed he had been the one speaking: Logan. It was nice to put a name to at least one of the faces.
There couldn't be more than twenty students, and each watched me the same look of disbelief. Room falling painfully silent, not a word was spoken for many moments. They looked as though they had seen a ghost, which very likely could have been most of their initial thoughts. I shifted uncomfortably, eyes urging Grayson to take over. He watched me proudly, making no move to speak; lost in his own pride and satisfaction. So much for him taking the lead.
"Hello..." I greeted, forcing a smile at my old classmates. I settled my gaze on Logan, part of me expecting him to be the first to come to terms with the situation.
"Adams?" Logan finally smiled. "Is it really you?"
Despite the lingering discomfort, I nodded and forced a smile of my own. Few chairs squeaked as if students were readying to approach me, to embrace me in a hug, but they reconsidered. Grayson must have shot them a warning look.
Class erupting in another excited whisper, Logan spluttered, sliding to the edge of his seat. "How?"
I shot Grayson another pleading look, and this time he was helpful. Well... somewhat so.
"I found her on Monday," Grayson stepped forward. "Just a luck of fate that we had the same class."
Slowly, smiles across the classroom flickered. The forming questions could be seen in their eyes before they were voiced. I suppose, one didn't expect to find their long lost, kidnapped classmate in public. You expected them to be locked away, hidden deep within a bunker, desperately awaiting the day they were found.
"What do you mean?" A red head in the first row questioned, hazel eyes fixed my way. "You were going to school in California?"
Swallowing nervously, Grayson answered before I could.
"She didn't know," he revealed.
"She didn't know?" Multiple people voiced the same question.
Grayson pursed his lips in thought, attempting to string the proper words. Except there were no proper words to describe the situation.
"She has amnesia," he finally explained. "She didn't know she was living with those people... She doesn't remember what happened."
"But—" someone objected.
"She doesn't remember anything before the injury." Even Grayson's smile flickered.
Well, this was awfully depressing. If I was uncomfortable before, the sensation was nothing compared to the dreadful weight of the shattered gazes shot my way. Why hadn't he warned them before? This was so much worse.
"You don't remember any of us?" Logan asked quietly, nearly white brows pinched together painfully.
I shook my head. "Sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Grayson reassured in a whisper, taking a step closer.
"She doesn't even remember you?" a girl in the back exclaimed, struck with the realisation.
I tried to ignore the flash of pain in Grayson's eyes, and the chorus of soft gasps. His face said it all: they didn't need his confirmation.
Shrinking under their crushing gazes, I wanted to run. I was willing to go off in any direction as long as it was very far away from the hearts my existence broke. As if sensing my rising panic, Grayson took another step closer.
"It's still Alex." He shot me a smile. "The rest doesn't matter... we have her back."
His comment earned a few smiles, seeming to snap most out of their depressed spells. Earlier excitement returning, students raced to introduce themselves, sharing one of their favourite memories in the process. It was incredibly heartwarming, and discomfort rapidly fading, I genuinely enjoyed our afternoon at Stanley High.
As promised, after stopping at a diner for supper, Grayson gave me time alone. I spent hours, in my old room and those of my parents and sister, willing my mind to remember something, anything. I had dreaded going up the stairs, expecting to be overcome with grief. Strangely, even with no return of memories, my exploring was comforting. Though I still knew little of them, I felt a certain closeness to my family.
The home seemed to be affecting Grayson the most. He looked tortured, unusually quiet. He walked across the hardwood floor with unnecessary carefulness. I watched him for many moments, setting up our beds, dismally concerned.
He set an air mattress in my room and another in the guest room, for old times' sake. I watched him work, cursing myself for the budding concern. There was a certain tension in his actions, a missing sparkle in his eyes. It was only then that I truly realised how much that night might have affected him. The Ryders had lost so much that night.
"Are you okay?" I asked warily.
"Fine," he snapped, sheet slipping from his fingers. Tone surprising himself, he grimaced. "Sorry."
I waved his comment off, studying him curiously for a few moments longer.
"Where were you that night?" I asked, eyes softening in anticipation.
He met my gaze with startled eyes, and I knew my worries were correct.
"Home," he said quietly, returning his attention to the uncompliant bedsheet.
"Then there's nothing you could have done."
He shook his head mildly, dark eyes proof that there was more to the story.
"There's more to it?" I deduced.
Visibly tensing, he hesitated. He watched me uncertainly, biting back his words until I nodded pleadingly.
"I found them," he eventually admitted, eyes glazing over, voice a whisper.
Heart breaking a little, I knelt by the mattress, fixing the other end of the sheet he was working on.
"I had the tendency to climb through your guest bedroom at the crack of dawn," he said, smile full of pain. "There was always someone up to greet me, most often not you. Your mom hiding by the door to scare me, your dad brewing coffee, or Maddy bouncing around the halls with her newest doll... There was none of that, that morning. I knew by the silence, that something was wrong."
I didn't add anything to his words, didn't urge him to go on or offer meaningless apologies. I was quiet, allowed him the space to go on if he wished. Though it clearly pained, he went on. A part of me suspected that he only chose to go on to appease my curiosity.
"I found your parents first." Voice rough, he wouldn't meet my eyes. "And Maddy shortly after... Awful isn't a strong enough word to describe it. I wanted to run, wanted to call for help, and let someone else deal with it, but I couldn't leave you there." He paused, fiddling with the corner of the sheet. I stopped my maneuvers, hear pounding, chest heavy with sympathy. "It would have killed me to find your body, but I couldn't get myself to leave without knowing. If there was even an inkling of a chance that you were alive, I wouldn't risk wasting it... Your room was a mess. You clearly put up a fight. Your stuff was thrown everywhere. There was blood everywhere... Obviously, I didn't find you."
I waited a few moments before answering.
"I'm sorry it had to be you," I said, despite my promise to avoid useless apologies.
He nodded in acknowledgement to my statement but didn't say anything more on the matter. As if trying to shake off the gloominess, he shot to his feet, standing to admire his work.
"If you need anything tonight," he said, walking towards the window. He double checked the lock. "I'll just be across the hall."
"Thank you," I told him sincerely.
I felt like more ought to have been said. I wanted to say more, but I watched him leave silently. There was nothing that could be said to make this better. I watched him head for the guest room, where I wrongfully assumed, he would spend the entire night.