In the Dark (Dark Time Book 1) Page 4
That evening, she found herself able to lean up against the couch, sitting on the floor to watch the television. She was slightly comfortable with a blanket draped over her and soup at her side. She wanted to watch it. She wanted to know if she had missed something. Sure enough, she discovered something… something, and she got a feeling about this illness. It was trying to keep her from the truth.
The news, it was a repeat of the night before. It wasn’t just that they had run out of news stories because the town was so safe. No, it was literally the exact same program again.
Alex kept looking to her parents to see what they would think of it; if they would say anything. They showed no signs of noticing. They were living the same thing over again and didn’t even know it. That was frightening because how could something be run that way? Alex had yet to figure out what she felt about god or gods, about how the universe came to be, but she had a feeling she was going to get her answers. They would come, whether she liked it or not. That was becoming apparent.
For two more days, she watched as the news stayed the same, as her parents’ routines stayed the same, as her illness came on every morning, until one day it just broke. One day she caught herself and realized she was wearing the same outfit every time she put something on. She forced herself to do everything differently; wake up at different times, change clothes, wear her hair different, eat differently. Everything was different so that it wouldn’t be the same, so she could escape the trap everyone else seemed to be in. It was becoming too real for her, and she knew she needed to dig further. And now that she was capable of leaving the house without puking her guts all over the place, she had a plan.
She went up to her father and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I wanted to do something for Mom with the old pictures, can you tell me where you keep them?” she asked with a whisper. It was a good excuse for looking at them. Not that she should have to have a good reason to look at her own childhood pictures, but part of her felt like she was being watched, being manipulated. Her idea was to appear as normal as possible; give a reason that she would want to see the photo albums.
“Oh,” her father said thoughtfully. “They are shoved back in the closet underneath my little shoe rack, I believe. Do you need help with anything?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“Not right now, but I will let you know.” She gave him a little peck on the cheek, affectionately, before heading for her parents’ bedroom. It felt a bit like she was intruding as she crawled into the bottom of their closet. Underneath all their clothes was the small rack, a little cheap wire contraption, that held just the few pairs of shoes her father owned. Sure enough, beneath it sat two shoe boxes full of loose photos and photo albums. Her whole life would be laid out in there, a life with days that changed. But would she find what she should find? Would she able to connect anything of their life together?
She took it up to her room to investigate on her own, so if she was given a shock, her parents didn’t notice. Besides, it was supposed to have to do with a surprise for her mother. She would probably actually have to make a little scrapbook or something, just to keep suspicion off of her. Right now, though, she needed to see it; her life, her childhood. She needed proof that it happened. What if this had always been happening? What if nothing was real, and it had been the summer before senior year her whole life? What if it would always be like that? The thought was suffocating.
She sat down on her bed and spread out all the photos she could find. She smiled at some of them, old ones of her parents. That was a good sign. There was proof of their marriage, of their time together before she came along. She looked through those first, searching for maybe one of her mother while pregnant. But she was not finding any at all. Was that normal? Everyone these days posted a picture of their belly every week for comparison on social media. She didn’t know what it was like in the early 90s, how they felt about it. Plus, she knew that her mother had a rough time with her because she was older than the typical first-time mother. Maybe she was too sick to worry about taking a bunch of pictures. So, that didn’t prove anything.
Alex put that in the back of her mind, to ask her father about later, for a pregnancy picture or a sonogram, and moved onto some of the albums where she knew she should be. As she did, she thought about what she might find, what she should expect to find. More than anything, it scared her because she couldn’t specifically recall anything. Not that she should have a perfect memory of her baby years. Shouldn’t she have something, a school trip or a family vacation in her head? She knew those things had happened because they reminisced about them all the time, but she found that when she dug deeper, there were no pictures in her own mind of those times. Wouldn’t it be that way? Didn’t memories of the past work like a movie, in your mind? There was nothing, just blankness, other than stories she had heard or told too many times not to have them memorized.
Alexandra placed picture after picture in front of her and saw birthday parties, sleepovers, and vacations play out before her, but there was a distance that she felt from them. It felt like they belonged to someone else’s life. They felt like something belonged in these photos and nowhere else; only on the page. Unsure how that made her feel, her stomach became a little queasy again, from that idea.
Shaking her head and putting it into her hands, she began to cry. She felt all alone in this and didn’t even know where to start. The best thing to do was to ask others what they remembered, if their memories felt distant too. Would anyone be lucid enough to be able to answer truthfully? Would she get someone else involved and get them sick like she was? And if so, how would they handle it all. It wasn’t a burden she wanted to place on others knowing how it felt for her. She knew she would never tell her parents. She couldn’t do that. They would think she was crazy, or they would be hurt that she didn’t remember their life together.
It just wasn’t an option.
She looked up, drying her tears as she caught the look of herself, in her vanity. No, she couldn’t just cry and give up either. She had a job to do, and the mental health and life of everyone around her clearly hung in the balance of her working this out. She would do what she had to. She would go and talk to others and see what they felt. Any suspicions be damned. Any fear be damned.
She went to her window and looked out to see that it was another clear afternoon, those same two puffs of clouds hanging over the town with their own private joke to tell. Though, she suspected that once she got home that night another storm would be brewing. She was going to go prepared this time for it and see what happened.
She went into her closet and grabbed a hoodie she could pull over really quick if it started raining, and made sure she was wearing leggings instead of shorts, tennis shoes instead of flip-flops. She got some strange looks out the door but smiled, telling her parents she had a feeling it might rain, and she would be back later.
The question, now, was who she should be going to first. She needed someone who wouldn’t get too suspicious. So, Wesley was out for now. It meant she would need to go face Candace again; Candace and the rejection letter that she would have gotten by now. But maybe there was a good excuse to keep her company and get into a conversation about memories. That was what she was going to do.
Alexandra walked the streets in a determined stance but took her time getting there. She wanted to make sure she didn’t show up again in the middle of her family unpacking and her reading that rejection letter. She wanted to give Candace and her family time to get a little settled before she just barged in on them demanding to know if Candace still had her childhood memories.
This whole thing sounded ridiculous, and Alexandra was glad that at least no one could read minds. If they could, they would surely label her as insane. All of this was completely off the wall, and she wondered, not for the first time, why she was the one wrapped up in this, instead of being blissfully unaware.
She approached the house and psyched herself up to do what she had to, knocking on the door. I
t looked like the car was mostly empty other than a few knick knacks they had probably been too tired to bother with, just yet.
It was Candace’s mother who came to the door with a sad smile. “Hi there, Alexandra. Candace just got some bad news about college. I think it’s actually good you stopped by. She might need a friend.” The door was opened further, to invite her inside. Alex stepped in to see a red-eyed Candace sitting at the dining room table, sniffling, with a piece of paper in front of her.
“I didn’t get in,” she said as Alex approached, sitting down and placing her hand over the rejection letter.
“Forget about that. There are other chances and other places. Maybe this happened for a good reason. You don’t know, and nothing on that piece of paper defines how good you are,” Alex said, knowing it was true, now more than ever. She had no idea who made these decisions, how their lives were meant to move forward and when; it just wasn’t right. It was a joke to get rejected. Interestingly, Wesley got accepted, though.
“Thanks, Alex. You have always been so nice. I know you’re probably right, but it just hurts right now. I have always planned on going there.”
“Since you were a kid?” Alex asked, perking up to the opening into the conversation she needed to have. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to bring it up. She tried to remain sensitive to this poor girl’s feelings, of course, but she was on pins and needles; hoping, waiting to find out if she was the only one with a mystery of some kind going on in her head.
“Yeah, I guess, since forever,” Candace said with a shrug. “I guess I always thought it would be a yes. A no was never an option.”
Alex nodded and patted her friend’s hand comfortingly. “Think back though, to the way you used to feel about it before all the stress got to you. Was it more about what college you were going to go to or more about what you were going to go and make something of yourself, regardless?” Alex asked, easing into the subject in a sneaky way.
Candace paused and had a blank look on her face for a moment, as if she was lost in thought, or somewhere else. Alex hung on every facial expression as Candace shook her head, going through confusion and uncertainty. “I don’t really remember what that was like, being so innocent and carefree. I need to get a life, Alex, I am too young for that sort of thing!” she said with a half sniffle half laugh. Alex chuckled, but it didn’t reach a full laugh. Could it just be a coincidence that she said she didn’t remember or did she truly have no idea what it had been like to be a child?
“I think you may be right. I am so stressed about it, too. My parents and I have been fighting because they want me to stay closer to home, and I just don’t want that. They put so much pressure on us so young, I think. It feels sudden, shocking when really we have been preparing for it our whole lives, in some way.” Alex was sounding a little philosophical, and she knew she needed to tone it down. “Anyway, did you have a good vacation at least?” Alex asked, changing the subject. Maybe a newer memory would give her more insight.
“Oh, it was fun, I guess. It was all a blur. Really, we do the same thing all the time, they just all kind of run together. I’ll miss the hot chocolate though. I like the cold weather better than the heat here. It makes it feel cozier.” Alex nodded, analyzing every word in her head. She noted how Candace had said all the vacations were the same, they all ran together; all she remembered was hot chocolate. That sounded like something obvious and planned for a ski vacation if she had ever heard one. The plot was thickening, and she still wasn’t quite sure what it meant; if it was dangerous or just convenient; or when the world would start spinning again if it ever had at all.
Chapter 5
Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real. ~ Iris Murdoch
ALEXANDRA found herself back in her room, shutting the door and locking it, thanking her parents silently for giving her a lock even though she was a teenage girl. She just couldn’t handle it right now.
She had made it home just before the downpour began, and she could see the clouds rolling in through her window if she looked out. It made her think about her dream from a few nights back, the one about the way the sky had turned dark with wings. Had she been having some kind of premonition?
She stared out at the clouds as if it just might come true this time, what she had seen in her dream. But of course, it didn’t. It was almost disappointing. It would seem much simpler to figure out what was going on, to suddenly see something completely insane like that. Maybe it was the idea that others would see it and it would prove she wasn’t off her rocker.
She turned back to all of the albums and photos that were still in the boxes on her bed and glared at them with fire in her eyes. Anger was easier than panic, so that’s what she let in.
She swatted at them in fury, spreading pictures flat everywhere, all over the bed and the floor. She began to swirl her hand around in them frantically, looking for one that meant something to her, one she would recognize and truly remember. It was maddening to think none of her memories were truly there, were truly real. Her whole life was a lie right now as far as she was concerned.
That’s when she came across one… one that she could cling to. She was pretty sure she was around 10 or 11 in the photo. She had that awkward look of a girl that was coming into her body and didn’t realize what was going on yet, still trying to dress like the boys. Her arm was slung over a boy’s shoulder, a boy she knew better than anyone else here.
It was Wesley. This picture was different. She didn’t know why, but it was making her head spin with memories. She could recall the events before and after the photo, less like a story, and more like what it should be.
They had been friends for a couple of years already, and she had heard their mothers talking about how the two might grow up real soon and start dating. Alex could distinctly remember, it was only a few months after that he had come to her in secret and told her he liked boys. He revealed he was gay and made her pinkie promise not to say anything to anyone else.
She had even pretended to be his girlfriend in middle school, so the kids wouldn’t make fun of him until he came out to his parents and became more comfortable with who he was. She didn’t know why these memories were stronger than those with her parents or anything else. Maybe the emotion behind them rang true, but she knew that going to Candace, while safe, had not been the right decision.
She needed to talk to Wesley, even if it meant possibly looking like a maniac or getting caught by whoever or whatever puppet master was pulling at the strings. What was the worst that could happen? Oh yeah, she might get committed. But Wesley would never do that. So, she supposed the worst was that he didn’t believe her. Or, perhaps, she would get sick again in an effort to make her get off the trail to whatever the solution to this mess was.
Alex began the process of putting all of the pictures together nice and neat and placing them on her vanity before going into her drawers for a pair of pajamas. Then came the knowing there was nothing left to do but sleep through this and wait for the next morning to come. She could go and find Wesley again and talk with him, about his memories.
As she closed her eyes, a horrible realization washed over her. She swallowed the lump in her throat, tired of crying over all of this. But it looked like she was never going to be making it back to her senior year of school. That meant she would never graduate. But she was sure as hell going to find a way to leave Kingsbridge just as soon as she saved the people in the town. Then, she would be out. She didn’t even know if she would ever want to come back at this point. If she hated the town before, she despised it now, and she couldn’t help the thought that it was at the epicenter of every problem she was facing.
***
Alexandra had spent the morning doing what she had said she would for her mother. She made a scrapbook that would surprise her with all of their life together, laid out in photos. There was a sadness in the project, a wonderment of how this would all turn out; if they would be separated somehow.
She didn’t want to go and meet Wesley at the bridge once again and relive the jump. She just couldn’t handle that. So, she had called him up and asked him to meet her later after dinner. Then, she could go straight from her talk with him to the clock tower and see what the angel had to say about what she had found out; assuming he would still be there.
It was actually at the clock tower that she met him, just as the sun began to set. Wesley was on a bench, waiting for her with his phone out. He was probably playing one of the little video games he liked. She wasn’t a gamer, but Wesley was pretty much into them.
“Hey there, what’s up?” he asked, getting up to hug her before patting the spot on the bench next to him. Alex couldn’t help but smile, thinking of this one person she might be able to trust with what she was going through. He trusted her with a most intimate detail that was life-changing, so the least she could do was allow him the same honor. “You sounded off on the phone like something was wrong. Are you going to miss me and all your friends when we leave this town?” he asked with a half smirk. He was teasing a little, but she wasn’t going to get into that conversation with him again. She couldn’t afford to chicken out now and get off track.
“Yes, something is wrong. I actually wanted to ask you about some things, if I could.”
“You can ask me anything.” He put his phone away and scooted closer as if suddenly realizing his friend was truly in distress, which she was. She couldn’t even look at him as she continued.
“Your memories, how do you remember them? Is it just like a story that you tell, that everyone tells, or can you actually picture everything; how you got there, what happened afterward?” she asked in a whisper as if someone else might come around and hear her. There were a few people enjoying a stroll in the area, but no one within earshot.