Intro
Irene
Trying to hold my baby cousin Lily is like trying to hold a greased pig wearing a banana peel. It's pretty much impossible.
I sweep Lily up and perch her on my hip on request from my Aunt Rane, who doesn't want her daughter toddling around the pool before everyone else gets in.
I'm struggling with keeping the little one-year-old occupied so she doesn't fall and hit the concrete porch. I bounce up and down as I carry her, and let her look at flowers and doorknobs when she points at them.
Family potlucks are always a bit challenging for me. First, Mom and I cook up at least four dishes of vegetables that no one ever eats, and then we have to dig through the cabinets to find stacks of styrofoam plates that I swear used to dominate our kitchen. Then there is the little problem of actually facing family.
"Look out ahead!" Screams a shrill voice, and I'm almost too late in my jumping out of the way. In a flash of color, Quinn screeches through the path the adults make for him on a rainbow tricycle about three sizes too small for him.
My family is dominated by children. The fact that I only have one sibling is a novelty to other members of the family. Everyone within a fifty mile radius who are related to us in some way shape or form is here today. Well, except cousin Caz, because she has a cold.
Lily shrieks with delight, as I step around our cactus garden towards the collapse of rainbow metal. She throws both her arms out towards the tricycle crash.
"Are you alright, Quinn?" I ask, getting down on one knee and setting Lily on the raised one.
"Oww," he groans. "My head."
"Alright, get up," I tell him, helping him up. No one can pull little eight year old Quinn out of problems faster than he can burrow into them. If trouble was a trash can, he would be a racoon. He stumbles to his feet, as two adults rush over to assist Quinn in his recovery.
On the patio, a crackling sizzle bubbles through the air moments before the grill sends flames three feet into the air. My unsuspecting brother jumps back from it, holding up his hands in surrender. Dad was supposed to fix that two weeks ago.
"Dad?" He calls nervously.
My dad is by the back door, balancing a jar of relish and a plate of raw hotdogs. I take the jar of relish so he can help Tony with the grill.
"Irene!" Calls Mom. She's standing tediously on the edge of the pool, dripping in her bathing suit. I look over, bouncing Lily on my hip. That many people should not be able to fit into a pool that size. "Could you bring out the Jell-O?" She calls. I give her a thumbs up with my free hand, and somehow wrestle loose the stuck handle on the screen door.
When the door slams shut behind me, the splashing and shouting is muffled out. The house inside is quiet. Hallelujah.
I set Lily in the middle of the kitchen floor so I can see her at all times. Mom swept and mopped the floors today, so it should be clean. She squeals, and I give her a spatula to play with while I look for the Jell-O. I hate Jell-O. Food shouldn't jiggle, in my opinion.
I pick up a cup from the counter, and take a long drink. Before the water makes it down my throat, it becomes less watery and more sticky. Water shouldn't be sticky. I swallow, and look at the cup in my hand. "Warshmire's Home-Made Honey!" The cheerful yellow label tells me.
Why is this open? While I try to put the lid back on, my legs feel like they are slowly giving way to gravity. I stumble when I look around, wondering briefly why I am here in the first place.
I shake my head, and open the refrigerator door. Jell-O. I'm here for the Jell-O. I haul out the giant bowl of shiny green mush. Turning around, I take a step forward, but find that my feet feel like they're being compressed by some unknown force.
I glance around, wondering if I should ask for help. But what kind of wimp can't even hold a bowl of Jell-O? I'll be fine. It must be some weird head rush.
The pressure in my feet builds until it reaches my knees. I open a drawer and count out thirty-six spoons by twos.
My hands start to shake, and I drop a couple. They clatter on the wood floors, and Lily squeals. She sounds worried for a one-year-old, so I look over at her. My vision is fuzzy, but I force myself to focus on her.
"It's fine," I assure her calmly, even though that's not how I feel. I force a smile. "Nothing's wrong."
I stumble, and blink a few times. The little girl with blonde hair looks increasingly worried. Why is the baby worried? Where am I? My arms feel very heavy all of a sudden, and then they change to feel unnaturally light. A shock runs through my hands and up my arms, as if I am clutching an active electricity socket.
The little girl on the floor stares at me with huge eyes filled with concern, and then screams all of a sudden. I start, scared of the noise. Some people burst through the back door.
My vision glazes over, and I start to shiver, even though I'm not cold. I see flashing blue and yellow lights in the distance.
A boy stands in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Irene?" He shakes me, but I don't register his touch. "Renny? What's wrong? Can you hear me?"
I can't hear him. I can't hear anything. My eyes stray to the flashing blue and yellow lights. They seem to be fading. I don't remember anything after that.
***
For a while before I wake up, I feel myself on the brink of consciousness. I can register the sounds of panic, but I'm not alarmed. I just roll over and go back to sleep.
I open my eyes soon enough, and I'm greeted by the face of a concerned paramedic.
"Can you hear me, miss?" She asks. "What is your name?"
"I don't know," I say. The light hurts my eyes. "I don't... what's going on?"
"Oh, my gosh, she has amnesia!" Someone cries. A collective murmur passes around the group of people around me. The world is passing by like a really, really, unnaturally fast carousel. The paramedic ignores them, so I decide to follow her example.
"Alright, stay calm," she pronounces every syllable clearly, placing a hand on my arm. "You're going to be just fine. Do you know where you are?"
I lift my head a little, and look around. A glimpse of a shattered bowl of Jell-O, and a spatula on the wooden floor below me. I'm being rolled quickly out of this room, but I recognize it.
"I'm in a kitchen. My kitchen. We were... we were having family over. For... for a meal."
"A potluck," corrects the voice who claims I have amnesia. "Do you know who we are?" She asks desperately. I try to focus on her, still unsure of anything besides the lady beside me and the potluck.
"You're my mom," I guess. As soon as I say it, it seems to fit her perfectly. Of course she's my mom. How could I forget? Police officers and paramedics are swarming the lawn outside, but a few of them are walking back to their cars.
"Yes, I'm your mom," she cries in relief. "Oh, my baby. You remember me."
I hear a chorus of desperate people asking me if I know who they are.
"What... what happened to me?" I ask. My head is on a pillow. Looking around, I realize I'm laying on a stretcher on my front lawn.
"You experienced a seizure, miss," the paramedic replies. "We're taking you to the hospital now."
I remember how I was trying to juggle getting Jell-O, and keeping an eye on my baby cousin.
"Is Lily okay?" I ask. My voice is gravelly. Aunt Rane appears beside me, supporting Lily on her hip. Lily smiles, and my tense muscles give out on the stretcher. I hold out my hand to her. She plays with my fingers for a moment, and I'm calm once again.
I release the strain on my drooping eyelids. I fully intend to go to sleep. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life.
I fall asleep to the sound of my whole family arguing over how to transport everyone to the hospital.
Yes, I have started a new fanfiction!
Many of you know that I used the entirety of season 5, 6, and 701 for my first fanfiction. Well, I decided that I wanted to invent episodes of my own, so that's what I'm going to do now. So here it is. The great adventures of Irene Santher.
If those of you who read my first fanfiction Checkmate first want to compare quality of plots to that, begin your comparisons, if you feel the need. Just keep in mind, I had a mostly pre-written script for the verbal communication and plots in Checkmate; for this new one, it's all coming out of the old brain.
One other thing... I don't have much time for writing, and this is a pretty challenging book. Because of that, I can't guarantee an update every week. Once I figure out a pattern that works, I'll stick to it. But I don't know if it'll be the same as the last book, since I have to put more of my time and emotions into it.
Well, anyway, enjoy!
P.s I'm going to stop setting up vote goals per chapter like I did on Checkmate. I feel like it just took unneeded time and energy. So just don't forget to vote!
Read On, Awkward Ferrets!
~TheLivingParadox