What Wasn’t Forgotten

Chapter 1

“Coffee first,” I informed Oscar as I limped into the kitchen. “Then I’ll feed you.”

Oscar let out an impatient meow as he sat next to his food dish, his tail wrapping around his paws.

“I promise you won’t die of starvation,” I said as I dumped old coffee grounds into my composting bucket. Oscar didn’t look convinced.

It had been almost two weeks since the night I freed Zelda and escaped from the Church of the Forgotten. Physically, I wasn’t doing too badly—my ankle had healed enough to no longer require crutches, I had gained some much-needed weight, and most of the color had returned to my face. I was still suffering from headaches, but ibuprofen took most of the edge off the pain. The doctor said my brain was healing nicely, so I needn’t worry about it.

My mental health, however, was a completely different story. Every morning, I woke from nightmares I could barely recall, covered in sweat and tangled up in my sheets. In those moments, I was sure that whatever dark presence I felt at the Church of the Forgotten had followed me home and was now residing in my room.

Watching me.

Waiting for me to drop my guard, so it could pounce and devour me with its sharp, shiny teeth …

In fact, being in my room at all was hard to bear. I was constantly eyeing every shadow, trying to discern any movement, and listening for any and every sound—including the soft inhale or exhale of breath.

I knew I was being irrational. But it didn’t matter. Regardless of every effort I made to do so, I couldn’t convince myself that there was no entity in my room … that it was just a figment of my imagination.

Even after retreating to the comfort of my kitchen to make coffee and feed Oscar, I was never able to shake the feeling of being watched.

Then there were the anxiety attacks that hit me at odd moments throughout the day. I had one at the grocery store two days ago and wasn’t even able to finish my shopping. Daphne had to come fetch me from the parking lot, where I sat trembling uncontrollably. She drove me home and finished my shopping for me before she and Aiden brought my car home for me.

I don’t know what I would have done without her. Chrissy was in school all day and still worked part time at Aunt May’s Diner. But even if she had been available, I wouldn’t have wanted to saddle her with what I was going through. She was a teenager who needed to enjoy her last year in high school, not babysit her hot mess of a stepmother. She had already been through more than most kids her age. She didn’t need any more struggles.

And Mia … well, she wasn’t in any better shape than me. Physically, she looked great—her bruises had healed, and she was no longer a bag of skin and bones. But she wasn’t the same. She was much quieter now, her attention often sliding away even in the middle of the conversation. I would often see her gazing at the wall, a glazed look in her eyes, as she wrestled with whatever demons haunted her. Even though she was now staying in what used to be my office, I knew she wasn’t sleeping any better than I was. When I padded by her room before the sun even approached the horizon, I could hear her pacing. Sometimes, I would find her in the kitchen, waiting impatiently for the coffee to perk.

We never talked about it. Never discussed our nightmares or the things that haunted us. Instead, we simply allowed each other to muddle through it on our own.

I didn’t know if that was the right decision or not.

“Morning.”

I turned to see Chrissy shuffle into the kitchen, still yawning. She was dressed in tight jeans and a hot-pink long-sleeved shirt that perfectly matched the stripe of color in her raven-black hair.

“You’re up early,” I said, opening the cupboard to pull out a second mug.

Chrissy grimaced. “Biology test today. Which I’m not ready for. Ugh.” She flipped a few strands of her dark hair out of her eyes and accepted the mug.

I offered her a sympathetic look as she prepared her coffee, doctoring it with a liberal amount of cream and sugar. “Science was never one of my strong suits. Or math.”

Chrissy groaned as she took a sip. “Don’t remind me. Algebra test is next week, and I’m nowhere near ready for that, either.”

I winced. “Oh. Yikes. Sorry to hear that.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes as she continued to drink.

“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” I asked, even though I knew she wasn’t much of a breakfast person.

She shook her head and put her mug down. “I should get going.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Library.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and scrolled through it. “That’s the best place for me to study. Otherwise, I get distracted. Oh, and since you’re up, would you mind taking me?”

I frowned at her, even though she couldn’t possibly see me, as her head was bent over her phone and her hair was swept around her face. “What’s wrong with your car?”

She glanced up and gave me a strange look. “It’s in the shop. We talked about this yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

I put my hand to my temple, a whisper of a headache fluttering across my forehead. The doctor had mentioned that some degree of short-term memory loss wasn’t uncommon after a concussion—especially seeing as I was not only dealing with physical trauma, but mental and emotional, too. Still, I found it worrisome. Especially since it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. “Oh yes, that’s right. Sure, I can take you now. Do you need me to pick you up?”

She was still looking at me with that strange expression, but now, I could see the flicker of alarm, too. “No, Brittany can pick me up. Becca, are you sure you’re okay?”

I rubbed my temple harder. “Positive. It’s just early. I haven’t had enough coffee yet.” I forced a smile onto my face, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

She didn’t look reassured. “Are you sure you should be driving? Maybe I should see if Mia is up.”

“Leave Mia alone,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. Mia needed the rest just as much, if not more, than I did, and if she was still sleeping, we needed to let her.

Chrissy’s eyebrows went up. “I wasn’t going to wake her … just see if she’s awake.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh, running my hand through my hair. “I’m just … I’m just frustrated it’s taking so long for my concussion to heal.”

Chrissy’s face softened. “Concussions suck. One of our cheerleaders had one. It took months for her to heal.”

My eyes widened. “Months?” Oh dear lord. I didn’t think I could stomach months of headaches and anxiety attacks and memory loss.

Chrissy nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it was bad. It happened during practice. She was tossed up in the air, but no one caught her. She ended up falling on her head.”

“Oh geez,” I said, rubbing my temple again, the whisper of pain gaining strength.

Chrissy’s eyes drifted to the scar on the side of my head. “I don’t think what happened to you was nearly as bad, though, so I’m sure it won’t take months.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Chrissy.”

She grinned and went back to her phone. “So, you’re sure you’re okay driving me then?”

“I think I can handle a ten-minute drive at this hour in the morning,” I said, reluctantly abandoning my coffee cup. “Let me grab my keys.”

She didn’t look up as I headed over to my purse and started rifling through. I didn’t see my keys, but I did find my phone. Out of habit, I took a quick peek and saw that my mother had called. Again. She had also left a voicemail.

Chrissy was talking, but I had stopped listening. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my phone. Over the past couple of weeks, my mother had called and texted several times, begging me to call her back. I knew I should, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The last thing I felt like dealing with was her hurling a barrage of guilt at me for not calling or coming home to visit, which would then inevitably segue into when I was going to sell Aunt Charlie’s house and move back to New York. It didn’t seem to matter how often I told her that Redemption was my home now. She was insistent this was just a “phase,” and any minute, I would come to my senses and go “home.”

“Becca? Are you listening?” Chrissy asked.

I slid my phone back into my purse. I would deal with my mother later. Much later. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

The concern I had seen on Chrissy’s face earlier flitted across it a second time. “I was asking if you needed something for dinner. I’m assuming Aiden and Daphne are coming over again, but do you need me to cook something for you?”

“No, I can handle it,” I said, trying to think where I had last seen my keys. Again, my memory failed me.

“Are you sure?” Chrissy asked. “I don’t mind at all. I can whip up a casserole right when I get home from school.”

“Honestly, it won’t be an issue,” I said, searching the counter for my keys. “I’ve got all day to make something.”

I smiled as I said it, trying to turn it into a joke. But inside, I winced. As I was still supposed to be healing, not working, I had very little to do and a lot of time to do it. Puttering around the kitchen at least gave me something to build my days around. And with Aiden still living in a hotel and Daphne fussing over both Mia and me, making dinner for everyone was truly a no-brainer.

Still searching for my keys, I moved to the pile of mail to see if I had dropped them there.

Chrissy finally looked up from her phone. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my keys,” I said. “Have you seen them?”

She pushed away from the counter and tucked her phone back in her jeans. “No. When was the last time you had them?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe a day or two ago?” It might have been longer. I honestly couldn’t remember, but I didn’t want Chrissy to know that.

“Hmm,” Chrissy said, picking up the cream and opening the fridge. “Did you check your office? I can run upstairs … oh wait.” She turned around and held up her hand, my keys dangling from her finger.

“Where were they?” I asked as my stomach sank and anxiety climbed.

She waved them at me. “On the top shelf of the fridge. Exactly where keys belong.”

I picked up my purse and phone and reached for the keys, forcing a smile onto my face. “I don’t know what I was thinking this morning. I guess I need to be more careful, before coffee.”

She didn’t smile back as she handed them to me. “Life is definitely better after coffee,” she said softly.

At least she didn’t ask how my keys ended up in the fridge, seeing as I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d handled them.

Although it was quite possible that she didn’t ask because she didn’t want to know the answer.