Epilogue 2
Fiero
“Honey, wake up.”
Her voice is honey. It reminds me of dating, flirting.
Remembering that her face is oval, smooth, supple. Like her curves. Her hair is wavy, dark brown, hints of highlights. When she smiles, it takes your breath away.
I wince as my eyes crack open. The room is strange.
Home, a simple two bedroom, two bath. You moved in after you got married. First place. Honeymoon years.
The white walls are foreign, yet I feel like I should recognize it.
Lovemaking, her curvaceous hips spread wide around me, her thighs splayed out. She’s flexible. It’s captivating. Enchanting. Like her laugh.
Circe. My love. Where are you?
I try to rise, but pain lances through my head, down my spine. As it does, flashes of faces, places, assault my mind.
People I know. Or knew.
A man in a robe, shaking his head in disapproval. My father? My…
Another man, tall, too tall, towering over me. Sandy hair. So much like my other…
I vomit, the fever wracking my body with aches, searing heat. The cold of the filth around me drive me on. Just another hand forward, another foot. Blood, so much blood.
“Time to get up, Ernie.”
Who? Me? Oh. Yeah. From before the…
More flashes. Faces of people I hurt. SO many. Too many. I block it all out, clamp my eyes shut. They’re nightmares.
Or are they memories from another lifetime?
“Oh good, you’re up. The children will be so happy to see you.” Circe leans on the bed, resting her warm, soft hand on my chest.
“The children?” I croak, my voice dry and broken.
“Darling, you’ve been…asleep for a while,” she explains, turning my face to look into her eyes. Those eyes. So green. Like the ocean.
“How long?” I mutter.
“It’s not important. You were in an accident, sweetheart.” She speaks the truth. I remember trauma. Pain. “You’re still recovering. Give it time.”
A loud noise, I’m falling. Panic spirals through my head.
I sit up, gasping.
She’s gone.
My feet hit cold floor. The room is dark. I am alone. The paint peels off the walls. The windows are dark with grime. I remember someone dragging me out of the ditch. Taking me away.
I dreamt that I died.
I wish I would have. The splitting fissure in my brain makes me nauseous.
Anger wells up. Someone did this. Someone needs to pay.
Staggering from the dirty mattress, I reach the bathroom door. The mirror is smudged, but there I am. Unshaven. Black hair.
“Is this me?”
“The one and only.” She giggles. “I made breakfast. Get it while it’s hot.”
Delicious smells fill my nostrils, distracting me from the man in the mirror. I’m starving.
I know my way down the hall, past the boys’ rooms. Empty. Why are they empty?
Who are the boys?
Shaking my head, I nearly double over. But I have nothing in my stomach to puke.
Food. Breakfast. Right. Circe has breakfast waiting. Don’t want to leave her hanging.
“When you’re done, we’re going to the pier. They have the most beautiful new boards. I know, I know. I don’t use the one I have enough.”
“You surf.”
“Of course, silly. We surf. You always have.”
“Right.” I sit down at the kitchen bar, tapping my plate with my fork.
I blink. The bar is smeared in dirt.
No plate in sight. Stumbling back, I feel the walls close in.
They’re gone. My family. They’re all gone.
Ciro, Aless, Adri…
Names without faces. Faces without names.
Rushing to the front door, I step out. Daylight. No cars.
Nothing for miles. Just windy hills. White shores far below. Trees. Overgrown bushes along the walk.
My heart aches for the time when this place was a paradise. But I can’t seem to remember where it is, or who lived here. Someone else. Someone with my face, with another name?
Choking back a sob, I charge through the house, toward the back terrace. The sliding glass door is open, remnants of the glass that paned the window scattered around.
Fingerpaints.
Christmases.
Brunch on the patio.
Stabbing a man who owes us money over and over and?—
“There you are.” Her voice is less sweet. Harsher. But it’s her.
“Circe.”
“I’m glad you remember.”
The woman stands at the once-white stone railing, overlooking another bend in the coast sweeping down below our house. Her house. Some of the disordered memories settle.
Our house.
Our family.
“You’re my wife.” And I know it. Feel it. Remember it.
“I see some of the past is returning to you, Ero.”
“Ero.” A name that makes me think of New York. Italy. Fast cars. Guns.
“Yes. That is your name. Your real name.”
“What do you mean, real?”
“Hm. More will come in time. Sit with me.” Circe pats the seat next to her.
“Where is everyone? What happened?” I lower myself onto the broken old lawn chair.
“You were in an accident. And we lost everything.” A tear trails down her perfect cheek. Her olive skin begs me to reach out.
But I barely know this woman. Yet I know her intimately.
“Your brothers, your father. All taken from us.”
“The boys?” Our…children. Whose names I cannot recall.
Her eyes harden, her fists clench. “They took our children too. He took everything.”
“Who?” I feel my wrath rise, filling every muscle and cell in my body with power. With a need to act. I’ve never felt such conviction, such hate.
“Dom Vipera. He betrayed us. He killed my family. He made you…he is the reason you are this way. Broken.”
“Why can’t I remember ?”
“You don’t want to. The things he made you do…”
My brothers. What have I done.
A sneering visage appears in my mind, and I know it is him. My enemy.
Who took everything away. And he must pay.
“Come, darling. Sit with me while I sing. Then we will go and never come back to this place. Not until we have gotten our revenge on the world.”
To be continued.