Paper Stars Rewritten (Fallen Brook #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

ELIZABETH

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. You see a bright light, and a warmth wraps around you. You feel at peace.

I wouldn’t know any of that.

Because I can’t remember a fucking thing.

But here I am in a place I don’t remember. A place that has been calling to me, beckoning me like a siren from Greek mythology. My only hope is that the outcome of being here is better than the fate of the Greek sailors who answered the siren’s call only to be met by death. And if there is one thing that I’ve learned in the past thirteen months since waking up in Seattle, Washington, it’s that death doesn’t scare me. I’ve already died and come back to life.

Now, I’m a ghost that wanders aimlessly without a home. A boat that is splintered and fractured, barely afloat, and at the mercy of a shifting, relentless tide.

My fingers touch the outside of my dark pink T-shirt, fingertips hovering over the raised scars along the side of my upper torso and waist. Knife wounds, I was told. Wounds that are now covered in a delicate pattern of butterflies; tattoos that were paid for by a nonprofit that helps trauma victims transform scars into something beautiful. Something to help ease the pain of what the scars represent. I asked the artist who did my ink to make the butterflies broken. Why? I have no idea. Just another unknown thing that called to me, like this place.

My eyes scan the historic brick buildings in front of me, the trees full of green summer leaves, the grass well-manicured and shorn short. Several people are lazing in the quad, soaking up the sun’s intense rays, while others take shelter from the heat under the shade of the giant oak and maple trees.

Carolina University.

A place where I was supposed to start college last year as an incoming freshman. A place where I feel like I need to be, but I don’t know why. My therapist back in Seattle said this would be a good thing for me. Maybe a way to trigger a memory or some form of recognition.

Daniel was a little more apprehensive about it. He didn’t want me to come. He thought it was too soon. He thought I wouldn’t be safe. I disagreed. It was time.

And because I’m nineteen and legally an adult, he couldn’t stop me.

I need answers. Answers that no amount of additional therapy can offer. Psychotherapy, cognitive-behavior therapy, music therapy, hypnosis, meditation—I had done almost thirteen months of that shit, and that didn’t include the excruciating physical therapy I had to endure to recover muscles that had wasted away while I was in a coma.

A coma that I came out of with no recollection of my life before. A life that currently exists in fucking limbo.

It’s ridiculous that I can still remember how to play a piano and a guitar flawlessly or know lines from some random movie, but I can’t remember people, places, or events. Why would the brain retain some arbitrary things but not the ones that truly mattered? Like memories of that night.

I was stabbed. My parents and sister were murdered. I was the only survivor.

But those are just cold, clinical facts I was told. I feel no connection to any of it. How can I not remember my family, the people who raised and loved me? I look at their pictures, and I only see strangers. Their deaths remain question marks typed in black ink on some detective’s report. Who the hell did this to me and my family, and why? Was it a random home invasion? Were we targeted by someone? Why, why, why? It’s a fucking nightmare not knowing why.

I need to go through the boxes that contain relics of my life BTA , before the attack. Force myself to face a past I don’t remember. But I’m not ready. Daniel insisted that I bring the damn boxes with me. As soon as the movers brought them into my new apartment, I shoved them into the farthest corner of my bedroom closet.

My fall down the rabbit hole gets interrupted when my phone rings.

“Hey, Daniel,” I answer once I see his name appear on my screen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Have you gotten unpacked and settled in yet?”

“Almost. The apartment is awesome. I’ll start looking for a job, so?—”

“We’ve already discussed this, Elizabeth. We want to do these things for you, so please let us. Your only job is to focus on classes. I’m sorry we couldn’t come with you and help. I promise that as soon as things settle down here, I’ll make the trip myself.”

I think about everything Daniel and Drew have done for me. They didn’t know me. They had never met me before. Daniel said that he hadn’t seen my father since they were kids, but he immediately came for me when authorities tracked him down.

The police searched for any living relative of my family who could step in as my guardian. Daniel was my dad’s distant cousin. He and his husband Drew stepped up in a big way. Since I was comatose, I couldn’t make medical decisions for myself, not to mention the funeral arrangements and the other legal stuff that pertained to my family. They handled everything and whisked me back to Seattle, where I stayed in an exclusive, private rehabilitation center until I woke up.

Woke up. What a stupid euphemism that sounds much better than the reality of what really happened.

“How is Drew feeling today?” I ask.

That’s the reason they didn’t come with me to North Carolina. Right after they brought me to Seattle, Drew started getting sick. First it was constant headaches, then mood changes. Drew blew it off as stress. It wasn’t until he suffered a grand mal seizure that they knew something was very wrong. An MRI found a tumor in his frontal lobe.

Drew is a fighter, though. He’s so brave and wonderful in the face of such a horrible disease. He never let the glioma stop him. That includes taking care of me. I think that’s one of the reasons why I want to go to medical school. I want to work in oncology and help people like him.

“Doing better. Today is one of his good days. Says he misses having you around. Let’s plan on videoing tonight so he can see you. Have you checked in with Dr. Clairemont yet?”

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. To lie or not to lie? One of the things he and Drew made me promise was that I had to continue to see a therapist while here.

“I’ll make an appointment with her soon. I wanted to spend today touring the campus and seeing everything. Look at the medical school and tour the hospital. It’s gorgeous out here. Much different than Seattle. Much hotter, too.”

“We worry about you, Elizabeth.”

“I’m safe. My apartment is Fort Knox, thanks to you and Drew. I’m on campus surrounded by people. There isn’t anything to worry about.”

My apartment is decked out with an over-the-top high-end alarm system they made the leasing company agree to. Overprotective? Yes. But honestly, I couldn’t care less. I’m glad that someone cares about me. Other than Daniel and Drew, I don’t have anyone else. If I did, I don’t remember, and no one else has come forward or has tried to contact me. It’s depressing as hell to think that I truly am alone in the world.

“I need some independence, Daniel. You guys can’t keep me locked inside a gilded cage forever. I need to carve out a new life for myself. Get an education. Apply to medical school. Go out on an actual date. Do something fun and silly. Be normal . It’s past time I rejoined the world of the living.”

“We’re here for you, sweetheart. Never forget that.”

“I know.”

“Has the detective contacted you yet?”

“He called and left a message. I haven’t called him back.”

“Elizabeth.” I hear the exasperation in his voice. “We talked about this.”

The investigation is still ongoing because there is no expiration date on murders. Crude but true. The homicide detective from the criminal investigation division has been wanting to talk with me again since I arrived back in North Carolina. I honestly don’t know what more I can tell him. Which is basically nothing since, oh yeah, I can’t remember.

Daniel sighs on the other end of the line. “You need to be safe, Elizabeth. Call Dr. Clairemont. Call the detective back. Video us tonight so we can see you, all right?”

“Yes, sir.” I hold my eye roll from fully forming. I know he’s just worried about me being here on my own for the first time in a year. “Big kiss to Drew. Talk to you later tonight.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

I shove my phone inside the back pocket of my frayed denim shorts and walk across the street to where I parked my car. Daniel had it transported from Seattle, and it arrived yesterday morning. It’s the one thing I convinced him to let me buy myself with the money I received from my parents’ life insurance. Money that now sits in a testamentary trust. Money that I refuse to touch—the exception being my car.

There was something about the cherry red Hellcat that felt familiar to me. When I first saw it sitting in the lot of a garage in Seattle, my heart pounded, and adrenaline rushed through my veins like liquid fire. I had to have this car. I fucking love this car.

“That’s a nice ride,” a male voice comments from my side peripheral.

My hand automatically goes to the pepper spray canister inside my bag. A guy my age—blond spiky hair and a few inches taller than me—approaches, a wide grin on his face. He’s wearing dark sunglasses that hide his eyes, and he’s dressed in board shorts and a muscle tee that shows off his half-sleeve tattoo.

“Thanks. I like it.”

I like his ink, too. I love unique geometric designs, and this guy’s are exceptional.

He casually leans against the car parked next to mine. “Do you go to school here?”

I gesture at myself. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Guess that was a stupid question. My name’s Preston.”

“Elizabeth.”

“The custom work on your car is impressive. Who did it?” he comments, nodding at my Hellcat.

“Place near Seattle.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Are we playing twenty questions?”

Preston gives his head a self-deprecating shake. “Sorry about that. I tend to get nervous around beautiful women.”

Now I really do roll my eyes. Is this guy flirting with me? Perhaps I should consider flirting back. Do I even know how to flirt? That thought makes me wonder if I ever had a boyfriend.

Without warning, a tightness squeezes my heart, like a hand’s crushing grip. The pressure is suddenly unbearable, and I’m consumed with a great sadness, compounded with a deep longing, both threatening to pull me under. I cinch my eyes closed when flashes of silver and copper hit me from nowhere.

“Hey. Elizabeth. Are you okay?” A hand shakes my shoulder.

I blink.

“Huh?”

“You started staring off into space and breathing really weird. Are you having an asthma attack? Do you need me to get you anything?”

Shit. Not again. These episodes have become more frequent since I arrived in North Carolina. I experienced a few in Seattle. They’re like petit mal seizures, but every EEG they gave me came back normal. The only conclusion my doctors could come to was that it was a memory trying to resurface but struggling to get out. And just like every other episode, nothing tangible comes. I’m still a blank slate of nothingness.

Not wanting to explain myself to this guy, a guy I just met and don’t know, I brush off his concern.

Coming up with an excuse on the fly, I reply, “Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten today.”

“Let me remedy that for you. Come on. There’s an awesome deli across from the quad in the student center that serves the best hoagies. My treat.”

I consider Preston. He’s a great-looking guy. He seems nice, and he hasn’t done anything that would set off my internal alarm bells.

I need to start my new life at some point. Since I can’t remember the past, I’m damn sure going to make a new future. No more hiding. No more fear. It’s time I start living again.

“Lead the way,” I tell him.