Chapter One
Smoke
choked her lungs and made her eyes water. The heat burned against her
skin. She ran down the steps, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Someone grabbed her from behind, strong arms wrapping around her
torso.
She
woke up gasping and coughing. Her surroundings came into focus.
Salmon-colored walls. A hard bed. She was in a hospital room, not in
the fire. She had escaped. Her heart pounding, she looked down at
herself. She wore a hospital gown, and her arms and stomach stung
with pain, though covered with clean bandages.
What
had happened? Swallowing, she tried to think over the day, but all
she had were blurry images that didn’t make sense. The fire was
vivid in her mind, but she didn’t know how she escaped. She
remembered riding in a car and bleeding from her stomach. She tried
to recall how she’d started bleeding, but she faced the same
maddening wall of blankness. She swore and clenched her teeth.
Her
hands shook as she pushed aside the rail on the side of the bed. She
needed to get out of here. She wasn’t sure why, but she had the
feeling something bad was going to happen if she stayed here. Her
legs were weak when she put weight on them, and she steadied herself
against the bed.
She
needed to find her parents. She tried to picture them in her mind,
tried to recall their names, but there was a gap where they should
have been. Instead, a crushing weight pressed down on her chest. She
pushed aside her panic. It didn’t matter; she’d find them. It was
just the shock.
An
unfamiliar woman walked into the hospital room. She had wrinkles at
the corners of her mouth, and her eyes widened. “You’re awake!”
She
swayed, her legs nearly giving out, and the woman rushed forward to
catch her arm. The woman eased her back onto the bed. “Don’t
worry, it’s all right.”
The
girl put her head in her hands. “I need to go.” But she didn’t
remember why. Something important pressed the back of her mind, but
when she reached for it, it faded.
“What’s
your name?” the woman asked softly.
The
girl’s eyes stung with tears, and she took a steady breath, trying
to hold them back. “I don’t know.”
* * *
Four months later…
The
windows next to them took up nearly the whole wall, showing the
harbor. The seagulls were just black specks in the blue sky. The
water ebbed back and forth, splashing against the rocks. Fiona could
see the spot where Hannah had found her four months ago. She only
faintly remembered being there; she’d been floating in and out of
consciousness at that point.
They’d
walked along the spot with the reporter an hour ago. Fiona had hoped
for some revelation, but nothing new had surfaced in her mind. The
only clear memory she had of that day was driving in Hannah’s car
on the way to the hospital, mumbling the name James over and over
again.
She
turned to Hannah and Troy, who sat across from her at the table. They
sat in a restaurant with a maritime theme: a model ship dominated one
wall, and comics of Popeye the Sailorman lay between the tables and
the glass over them.
“This
is one of my favorite places in Mystic,” Hannah said. “You know
the coffee shop area used to be a dance club? It was the coolest
place in town on the weekends.”
Fiona
grinned. “Did you come here with your leg warmers and Ray Bans?”
Hannah
laughed. “Oh, yeah. You’ve seen the pictures. I was the next
Madonna.”
Fiona
exchanged amused glances with Troy. “But then you became a real
estate agent,” she said. She tried to imagine Hannah singing Like a
Virgin. She couldn’t. Hannah was too sensible, too normal.
“The
world wasn’t ready for me.” Hannah flipped her hair off her
shoulder.
“Wait,
I need to see those pictures,” Troy said, bumping his shoulder
against Hannah’s.
“No!”
Hannah shook her head. “Too much teasing material.”
“You’ll
show Fiona and not me?” Troy put his hand over his heart. “That
hurts, Hannah.”
“Just
goes to show she likes me more,” Fiona said with a shrug. If only
that were true. She had asked Hannah not to bring Troy today, but
she’d insisted that he would be fun. Right. Hearing him complain
the whole trip about the follow-up article with the Boston Herald
was really fun. She couldn’t believe he’d actually tried to talk
her out of it in front of the reporter.
Troy
looked like he might respond, but Hannah cut him off, perhaps to
avoid an argument. “Do you two know what you want?” she asked.
Fiona
picked up her menu. “You’re the expert. What should I get?”
“Their
seafood pasta is amazing. I really like their soups, too.”
The
waitress came over with their drinks. She was an older woman with
corkscrew curls dyed red. “Are you ready to order?”
“Not
yet,” Troy said, his gaze on the menu.
“Okay,
I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
“Thank
you so much, Lisa,” Hannah said, smiling.
“You
know her?” Troy asked.
“I
saw her name on her name tag.”
Troy
smirked, shaking his head. “You’re too funny.”
Fiona
studied him for a moment, trying to determine if the comment was
meant to be condescending or flattering. She generally couldn’t
tell with Troy.
She
looked down at her menu, but didn’t want to consider all the
options. Seafood pasta it was. She trusted Hannah’s judgment in
food. She trusted Hannah more than anyone, really. That wasn’t
saying much, considering she didn’t know many people, but even if
Fiona knew hundreds, she was sure Hannah would be one of the nicest
people she met. She’d taken care of Fiona, let her live with her in
Boston for the last three months, supported her search for her past,
and had even given her something like a normal life.
The
waitress retuned a few minutes later. Troy ordered first, then
Hannah. “And for your daughter?” she said, turning to Fiona.
Fiona
smiled tightly. “We’re not related.”
“Oh,
I’m sorry,” ‘Lisa’ said. “You really look like you could
be!”
“It
happens all the time,” Troy said, waving a hand. “Don’t worry
about it. Fiona, you wanted the seafood pasta, right?”
“Right.”
Fiona pursed her lips. She didn’t mind being mistaken for Hannah’s
daughter, since Hannah was the closest thing she had to a mother.
Thinking of Troy as her dad made her cringe, though. He couldn’t
even let her order her own food.
Once
the waitress left, Hannah leaned forward and squeezed Fiona’s hand.
“I’m glad we came today. Maybe someone will see that article.”
“Hopefully
the right people,” Troy muttered. “You know, we could still call
her and ask her not to run it.”
“It’s
running,” Fiona said firmly. “Maybe a family member or a friend
will see it.”
“Yeah,
or someone else,” Troy said.
“This
conversation sounds really familiar.”
Hannah
changed the subject, and Fiona tuned them out, gazing out at the
harbor. She understood where Troy’s reservations came from. She had
been stabbed, and she faintly remembered being pulled into a van, so
she could have even been kidnapped. She had weighed the benefits with
the risks, though. If her family saw the article, it might be worth
the chance of someone else seeing it. Besides, an article had run
four months ago, and no one had come looking for her then.
She
tried not to dwell on the fact that no one might come looking for her
this time, either. She had to hold onto some kind of hope.
They
ate their lunch, chatting aimlessly. Hannah redirected the
conversation every time Fiona or Troy mentioned the reporter,
probably to avoid an argument. Fiona was fine with that. Troy didn’t
seem to understand it was her choice, not his.
Hannah
had a real estate meeting at one o’clock, and Troy wanted to visit
a few shops in town. Fiona told them she’d walk to the library
around the block.
“Shouldn’t
you stick with us?” Troy asked.
Fiona
made a face. Since Hannah had a meeting, that left Fiona with Troy.
“I’m okay. I’ll just hang out at the library.”
“I
don’t know,” Troy said, shaking his head.
“You
don’t know what? Just go do your thing.”
He
looked at Hannah. “You couldn’t take her to your meeting?”
Fiona
huffed. “Troy, I’m old enough to go to the library by myself for
a couple hours.”
“She’ll
be fine, honey,” Hannah said.
Troy’s
jaw tightened. “Fine. But you have your phone, right?”
“Yeah,
of course,” Fiona said.
Hannah
stood, looking at her watch. “My meeting should be over in an hour
and a half. You want a ride, Troy?”
“Sure.”
Troy got to his feet, leaving some money on the table. “Keep your
phone close by, Fiona.”
Fiona
gave him a thumbs up and waved as they parted ways in the parking
lot. She sighed with relief when they were gone. She walked to the
library and went to the computer lab. She’d planned on doing some
research, but the technician told her the lab didn’t open until
one. Fiona didn’t understand why they didn’t open the computers
with the rest of the library.
While
she waited, she perused the periodicals. She dug through the old
newspapers and found they didn’t keep newspapers for longer than
two weeks. At Hannah’s house in Boston, she had the local newspaper
from Mystic that had the article about her: the injured girl with
only fuzzy memories of her childhood, waiting for someone to claim
her.
Fiona
walked through the aisles of the periodicals, running her fingers
over the magazines and academic journals. She loved the smell of a
library: the old, dusty books, the ink and paper.
Her
gaze stopped on a journal called American Physics. The title
sounded familiar. A social worker had suggested she take the SATs a
couple months ago to see where she was academically. The science
section of the test had been, without a doubt, the easiest section
for her. She even had faint memories of learning those things, of
working in a lab, of running experiments. She could explain certain
concepts to Hannah.
She
picked up the journal and flipped through it. She grabbed the last
four issues before finding a seat. Some of the articles went straight
over her head; some fascinated her. Her thriller novel hadn’t been
able to keep her attention, but this could. Her mind made no sense
sometimes.
On
the last page was a short article. The black and white photos caught
Fiona’s eyes first, and she gasped. A man and a woman, smiling in
individual pictures. She knew them. She’d seen them in faint
memories: the man’s deep set eyes and dark hair; the woman’s warm
smile and bright eyes. Fiona had tried to describe their faces when
she had access to facial composition software, but the faces never
came out right. Yet here they were. Her parents. Real.
She
sought out the name of the authors: Richard and Fiona Normans.
That
was why the name Fiona had stuck out to her–it was her mother’s
name.
The
headline read, Human Replication–Is It Possible?
The
article was only a page long and prefaced a longer study to come in
the next issue. The two had studied the possibilities of human
replication for nearly two decades. They worked primarily out of
their lab in New York City while trying to replicate both organic and
inorganic objects. On the surface, the theory sounded impossible, but
Fiona found herself nodding along to their claims.
She
swallowed, looking back at their pictures. She stood up quickly and
checked to make sure this was the most recent issue. She looked at
her watch. Still half an hour before the computers opened. She’d
have to call American Physics. Maybe they could talk to
Richard and Fiona for her. Maybe they’d tell them she was alive and
well. Maybe she could actually be reunited with them.
Of
course, the doubt that her parents were even alive hovered in the
back of her mind. She remembered being so panicked when she ran
through those flames, sobbing uncontrollably. She wasn’t sure if
they’d survived the fire.
She
started jogging for the door. She turned the corner of an aisle and
ran straight into someone, dropping the journal. “Oh, I’m so…”
she trailed off when she saw the guy standing in front of her. He was
a few inches taller than her. He had black hair, and he stared at her
unabashedly.
Fiona
couldn’t believe how familiar he looked: the narrow face, the
golden brown eyes. She knew him.
He
slowly reached down and picked up the journal. He looked at the
title, then stared at her again. She clenched her hands into fists,
hardly daring to hope. Could it be? Could he really be someone from
her past? Why else would he be staring at her like that?
“Elizabeth?”
Recognition
exploded within her. She'd been called that before; she just knew it.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away, embarrassed. “I…”
“Oh,
my god. Is it really you?”
“I
don’t know.” Fiona’s voice shook. “Who do you think I am?”
He
stared at her. “You don’t… you don’t remember me?”
“I
recognize you. What’s your name?”
“James.”
* * *
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