Epilogue
Salvario
The door closes behind me as I make my way to the chair placed in front of a wooden table in an office that can’t belong to a sane person. It contains more plants than any plant nursery could hold in this amount of space.
“Mr. De Falco, how are you?” Stan Oxford asks in his ever-cheerful voice.
“Good.” I sit in the chair.
“That means your wife and daughter are also good.” He chuckles.
I nod, a smile curves my lips just at the mention of my world—my wife and my three-month-old daughter.
“How’s her healing going?”
“She can now play piano for half an hour and write for ten minutes before her hands start trembling. She stutters occasionally, which the speech therapist said will remain for life. She can walk for an hour without any problem.”
Every time I come here, Stan asks about Elowen’s recovery. There could be more improvement in her limb trembling, but the therapist has now started to suggest that it won’t improve much more. We’ve come to terms with it.
She can do everyday chores without any assistance and now takes care of our daughter perfectly.
The only thing that pains us is that she can’t play for more than half an hour.
She’s started performing in concerts again, now that we have a grand concert hall in Naples.
And even though she only play for twenty minutes, people travel from across the globe to listen to her. That’s the magic of my wife’s music.
“Sounds good,” he smiles. He removes his glasses and leans back in his chair. “Did he show any change?”
“He talked a week ago.”
“What did he say?”
“I was holding my daughter, and he said she’s pretty.”
Stan chuckles. “Well, that was unexpected. It’s good news, though.”
I can’t believe anything related to that boy is good news. I thought I’d never meet him again, but two years ago, when we went to Greenland for our honeymoon, the very first night, he visited me in my nightmare.
He was standing alone in a dark, empty, burnt city. The city must have been Naples, after I burned it. From the next day, I started feeling his presence in my head. It was very weak at first, but gradually became as strong as his name itself—my dissociative identity.
He’s not affecting me negatively, but he can’t be trusted. Elowen doesn’t know about him. I didn’t tell her, and I have no plan to. She’s afraid of him more than anything in this world.
“How is that good news?”
“Before you lost your memory, he never liked Elowen. After you lost your memory, he showed no reaction toward her, despite you loving her. Now, if he’s showing affection toward your daughter, that means he’s accepted her. And who knows, maybe after some time, he’ll accept Elowen as well.”
That would be great. I wouldn’t have to hide him from her.
He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Once he gets a taste of her love, he will never ask for anything.
Not that he can ask now, since the power he had over me came from the memories.
Those memories are still buried, and I wish they would stay buried until he finds his redemption.
And if someday, by some mistake, those memories decide to crawl out of their graves, I’ll end them.
I’m aware that wiping my memories means forgetting the last two years as well, forgetting the precious moments I spent with her. I don’t want that, but if it’s the only option, I’ll bear the pain.
And even if I lose my memories, I won’t lose her. No matter how many times they’re wiped away, I know I’ll never forget her.
My soul will never forget her, even if my mind does. It will hunt for her and won’t rest until it finds her.