Chapter Fifty-One
Grace
I wake up with the taste of metal in my mouth. It isn’t real. A ghost of a memory. Electricity from the taser that let someone I still can’t see steal me away.
For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m on the ground at the side of the trail, every nerve ending on fire, staring up at the sky.
But then AJ shifts next to me, his breath tickling my neck.
I’m home. I’m safe. I’m loved.
And a little sore. But only because last night, I found a piece of myself I feared I’d lost forever.
The soft smile curving my lips banishes the last of the nightmare. For now—for these few minutes at the break of dawn—I’m at peace.
If only it would last. In a few hours, we’re supposed to talk to Zephyr, the tech genius Connor works with. And I’ll have to tell her everything I can remember. AJ will want me to go deeper. To dive deeper into my memories—maybe deep enough to trigger another panic attack.
I decided days ago that I wouldn’t keep shoving the dark fragments of my memory away. I have to face what happened to me. If only it were that simple.
Belle sits up in her plush doggie bed, staring at me like I should know what to do.
Shit.
I do.
My legs tremble, and the world lurches so quickly, I grab the edge of the nightstand before I fall on top of AJ. The throbbing in my head is deep and dull, almost like the headaches I had my first few days in Mexico.
The floor ripples, like I’m walking on water, but I manage one step. Then two. Belle pads over to me, pressing herself against my legs to steady me.
She stays by my side all the way to the living room, where I scoop up my sketchpad and the little pouch with my pencils, erasers, and blending sticks, then wobble down the hall to my studio.
The empty, white walls stare back at me.
I can’t believe AJ did all this. The room still smells vaguely like paint—latex, not oil—and lavender spray cleaner.
Even the window is sparkling and clear. The lake glitters, a million tiny diamonds scattered over the surface, and I open the sketchbook to a blank page.
My thumb finds the familiar groove in the pencil, and I draw a faint line. Then another.
Shit.
The lantern. Again.
How many times do I need to draw the damn thing before my broken brain lets me move on? Why can’t I see faces? Landmarks? Or even the writing on the cover of that old book?
I try to tear the page free with my left hand, but it slips from my traitorous fingers. The sketchbook tilts, and so does my perspective.
I can’t draw the rest of the image fast enough. The sides slant upward, narrowing to a point, like it’s hanging above me. My chest tightens with each line and curve I couldn’t remember until now.
There’s something there. On the base. Something…new. A mark carved into the metal.
I trace the image with the edge of the pencil. The unbroken circle mirrors the moon high above the lantern. And cutting across it? Is that…a leaf? It’s long, with narrow edges that look almost…sharp. It’s not from an oak or maple tree. Maybe a rhododendron? Or…
Shit.
My pulse won’t settle. This is too important. I hug the sketchbook to my chest and push up from the chair. I wish Belle had stayed with me. But I heard AJ get up somewhere between the etched glass panes and the base of the lantern, and she went in search of food.
The floor doesn’t tilt sideways, thank God, so I risk a few wobbly steps toward the door. So far, so good.
The low hiss of the coffee maker carries down the hall, along with the rich scent of his dark brew. The faint clink of mugs has become the sound of home.
Shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose pajama pants, my husband stares out the kitchen window with Belle at his side, her tail thumping.
She notices me first, barks, and runs over to her bowl. “In a minute—” AJ’s whole face softens. “Mornin’, darlin’.”
If I don’t sit down, I’m afraid I’ll pitch over, so I ease myself into a chair and flip the sketchbook open. My hand shakes as I slide it toward him. “I…think this means something.”
He peers over my shoulder, bracing his hand next to mine so the heat of his skin seeps into my back. “Is that symbol on the bottom?”
“Yes. It’s unique, right? The leaf…you don’t think it could be…?” I glance up at him.
The muscles in his jaw shift, slow and deliberate. “If it’s not, I’ll eat my Ranger star.”
I’d laugh if he weren’t one hundred percent serious. “I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.”
AJ presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Because you weren’t ready. Remember what Dr. VanHorn said? That your memories were covered in layers and layers of bubble wrap? Maybe you had to feel safe before you could peel that bubble wrap away.”
He covers my hand with his. Strong and steady and reassuring. Safe.
There’s one thing I’m sure of. You, Aaron. It’s always been you.
I sit on AJ’s office couch, staring at the bulletin board filled with every clue, every article, every scribbled note he’d hoped would bring him one step closer to me—the shrine he built to my memory.
On the desk, the video call waits for Parker, Connor, and Zephyr to join. I cup the mug of tea in both hands, take a sip, and settle closer to AJ.
“Zephyr’s a little intense,” he says. “But I think you’ll like her.”
The left side of the screen flickers to life. Zephyr’s teal hair falls over one eye, and in her right hand, she holds a ceramic mug half the size of her head.
Her dark purple lips form an O, and her eyes widen. “Grace. Hi. I’m Zephyr.”
AJ’s arm tightens around me. But I’m not scared. Not yet, anyway.
“Um…hi.”
I wish I could find the words to thank her for all she’s doing. To thank everyone. But instead, I settle a little closer to AJ and fiddle with the hem of my sweater.
Parker joins next, a yawn hidden behind her hand. “Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t get home until after midnight because someone needed more time to finish his ‘grand romantic gesture’ while Grace and I were at girls’ night.”
“Well, that’s a story I need to hear one of these days,” Zephyr says.
Connor is the last to join, his arms folded, against a backdrop of a bookcase filled with photos.
“Zephyr, we’ve got somethin’ new on the lantern,” AJ says. “There’s a symbol on the bottom. Sendin’ you a picture of it now.”
She taps her keyboard a few times, narrows her eyes, and frowns at the screen. Her eyebrow piercing winks in the overhead light. “Well, if that’s a leaf, it shouldn’t take me long to figure out—”
“Oleander,” I say, my voice steady. “It’s an oleander leaf. I…looked it up.”
Zephyr cracks a smile. “Good work, Grace. I’ll feed the image into my web crawlers and see what they spit out. Every little detail helps.”
“Tell her the rest,” AJ says, his voice low and smooth in my ear.
I take a sip of tea, my throat suddenly dry, and swallow hard. “There were horses. Or…one horse, at least. The room I keep seeing…it was all wood. Not painted. Or stained. Sealed maybe.”
She takes it all down. Everything I’ve remembered. The book with words my mind won’t let me see, the lanterns hung all around the big gaping nothingness I’m terrified to remember, and the taser.
I taste metal again. Sharp and sudden. My breath stutters. The laptop screen blurs. Everything’s dim. Dark gray and black and stifling hot.
“I’ve destroyed the watch and tossed her phone. I’ll burn the rest later. We should go. Now.”
“Grace?” AJ squeezes my forearm. I stare down at my wrist, at the thick scar I don’t remember getting, and a spot of blood wells on my skin.
But after a blink, it’s gone.
“M-my watch. They took my running watch. I think…they cut it off me.” I tighten my hands around the mug of tea and inhale deeply. Lavender and chamomile. A touch of honey.
I’m home. With AJ. Nothing can hurt me here.
“I can see the blood. And…maybe…a zip tie.” A sob threatens to escape, but I force it down so I can tell them the rest. “It was a white van. Kind of beaten up. But everything else is fuzzy. Like…I was there but not at the same time.”
No one says a word for several seconds. Zephyr’s gaze is soft, but her voice roughens. “They drugged you.”
At my side, AJ’s so tense, I’m surprised I don’t hear his muscles snapping one by one.
“There has to be more.” It’s getting harder to keep my tears at bay. “I want to remember. Even if it hurts. Even if I’m not ready.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Zephyr says. “And I’ve got an update from Mik that might help.”