Board Thread:Short Stories and Fanfictions/@comment-43311054-20191230215000/@comment-43311054-20200208215042

Chapter 7

Alden walked back into the room, smiling. A fake smile forced itself onto her face as she adjusted herself a bit to her surroundings.

“So, what are we going to do to get my memories back?” she asked with uncertainty.

Alden replied quickly, “We’re going to have you talk to the people you remember. See, out of the people that you come into contact with regularly, you’ve known Fitz the longest. Only by a few days, of course, but nonetheless you might remember him the most.”

She frowned a little, looking at Fitz. She could tell that she knew him really well, she just didn’t know why. Another of the many things bothering her at that point in time was that she also didn’t know what to refer to herself as. She knew that she was a girl named Sophie, but calling herself Sophie just felt wrong. She didn’t know exactly what to call herself, though, so Sophie would have to do.

Snapping back into the present time, Sophie nodded.

Alden nodded and said, “Okay, should we see who else you remember? Try to name anyone at all—and if you can’t remember names, go with faces. It’s okay if it takes a while, that’s to be expected. There’s—”

Sophie grimaced and said, “Please don’t say that there’s no reason to worry. There obviously is.” A small smile quirked at the end of Alden’s lips as he nodded, cutting off his sentence.

Thinking back, a face popped into her head. It had dimples. Dimples…she remembered him. Dex! His name was Dex.

“Dex,” Sophie blurted out, happy when an even more relieved smile broke out on the pair’s faces. “He has dimples. His hair is like, uh, what’s the phrase…strawberry blond. And his eyes are blue-ish, like everyone else’s. He has a scar on his stomach from…was it a kidnapping?”

Before anyone could say something else, she continued, “Keefe. Blond hair, ice blue eyes. He was here, wasn’t he?”

Alden frowned and asked, “Yes. How did you know?”

Sophie furrowed her brows and said quietly, “He sent happy colors in my mind, somehow. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I remember.” Fitz nodded, pointing at her.

He said, “You’re right. That’s what he said he was doing—well, not exactly the color part, but the happy part.” Sophie nodded, relieved that she’d remembered two more people and actually gotten them right.

Alden spoke up and said, “Do you want me to bring him in? You can always say no, it’s your choice.”

Sophie nodded for the hundredth time and said softly, “Let him in.”

Alden left the room after sending a pointed glance at Fitz.

Fitz cleared his throat and awkwardly said, “What’s your favorite color?”

Sophie frowned, thinking. She looked at Fitz. His eyes were pretty, she supposed, and she may have thought that they were her favorite before—although she wasn’t sure.

But instead, she replied, “I liked Keefe’s eyes. They were really pretty.” Fitz raised his eyebrows and tugged at his sleeve.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” Sophie’s eyes flashed towards the door as it opened, again when she felt that she ought to apologize to him for not remembering.

Keefe, the boy from her memories, strode through the door. Sophie felt much calmer than she had when she’d seen Fitz for the first time, and she didn’t flinch when he went right next to the bed.

“Sophie?” he asked tentatively. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Sophie winced and looked to Alden for help.

“Keefe,” Alden started cautiously, “you may want to sit down for this.”

And then Sophie tuned out the conversation—she didn’t want to hear them talk about her like she was some fragile, amnesia-ridden doll. She caught snippets of the conversation, but she closed her eyes and buried herself in her thoughts before she could hear anything else.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she flinched, her hands flying up as if to defend herself, before realizing it was only Keefe. His face was heartbroken as he pulled away.

Something caught in Sophie’s throat as she choked out, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

Keefe said, his voice much thicker than it had been before, “You don’t have to be sorry, Foster. It’s not your fault.” Foster?

Sophie frowned and voiced her thoughts. “Foster?”

Keefe replied quietly, “It’s your last name. I call you Foster a lot.” She smiled.

“I like that better than Sophie for right now,” she said shyly. “It seems more…right. I think I'll call myself that instead. You all can call me Sophie still, though.” In the back of her mind, she registered the slightly hurt look as it flickered over Fitz’s face, but she wasn’t herself enough to recognize it.

Sophie—no, Foster— smiled wider and continued, “I think I remember something else.”

All eyes focused on her face as she finished, “You used to call me ‘The Mysterious Miss F’, didn’t you?”

An infectious grin spread over Keefe’s face as he nodded quickly. Foster grinned back at him.

Alden cleared his throat as he said, “I may have an idea. So, Sophie, we’re elves, all of us. And we all have powers.” Foster nodded her head, giving him the go-ahead to continue. “One of those that you, Fitz, and I share is that we can read minds. We’re called Telepaths. You and Fitz actually share a special connection that makes you Cognates—which means that you can work together very easily to use your abilities, and it makes it more powerful.” That seemed plausible enough. It would explain why she had been literally sifting through her dark thoughts just before she’d woken.

Foster could feel an addition to his explanation coming, so she asked, “And you’re going to have someone use that power to somehow help me?”

Alden nodded and said, “I’m going to have Fitz go in your head and see what’s going on—to see how we can help. And Keefe can monitor your emotions—he’s an Empath, so he works with emotions—to make sure you’re okay.” Suddenly Alden’s jaw snapped shut, and he turned to stare at Keefe.

Keefe looked down sheepishly, mumbling, “I’m sorry. I’m trying my hardest to not do anything.” Alden nodded and gave him a reassuring smile before looking to Foster to see if she was okay with it.

She nodded, grinned, and declared, “Go ahead. Go and find something that can fix this.” So Fitz pressed his fingers to her temple, Keefe grabbed her hand, and Foster found herself easily retreating back into her thoughts.

Fitz’s voice echoed in her thoughts. Wow. It’s much easier to get into your thoughts than before. You used to have such a barrier up, and it may be because the connection has gotten stronger, but I think your wall isn’t the same.

Foster imagined herself building up a wall around her mind before Fitz’s voice shouted, I didn’t mean you were supposed to try and shut me out!

Sorry, she thought quietly.

It’s okay. I’m going to look around in your brain now, okay? You can leave if you want to, because this might take a while.

Okay, I will. Let me know if you need my help.

Foster pulled herself from her mind and relaxed into the pillows. She opened her eyes to find Keefe and Alden staring at her.

Before they could ask, she answered their unspoken questions. “He told me that he’d be fine. I’m staying out for now.”

Alden rubbed the back of his neck nervously and said, “Maybe you should go back in there just to make sure he’s okay. He always says that he can handle it, but we don’t know what to expect.” Foster nodded and closed her eyes again, entering her mind.

Fitz? I’m back. Your dad told me I should stay here just in case. There was no response.

Fitz?! Her mind cried out, panicked. FITZ?! She could feel a presence somewhere in her mind, and she raced towards it.

She could feel Fitz’s mind, perfectly fine, but in shock as he stared at the raging memories flashing in front of him.

Foster watched in horror as her nightmare replayed itself. Fire everywhere once again. Raspy breath, her hands wet with blood, cold metal slick with it. Ragged breathing, panic, as someone clamped a sweet-smelling cloth over her face.

Even more came back—she remembered being tied to a chair, and so much pain. She remembered the scar on Dex—she remembered the horror as she tried to reassure Keefe as he slipped into unconsciousness after being wrapped in shadows.

And then—what really shocked Fitz—it was him in a bed across from Foster. His eyes closed, he looked very, very injured. In the memory, Foster’s original self was starting to tremble. And then his eyes flickered open and the memory ended.

A beat.

And then she felt Fitz retreating from her mind.

Foster pulled herself from her thoughts as well, meeting Fitz’s eyes.

Looking at him earnestly, she asked, “Are you okay?” Fitz looked at her, and in that moment, Foster almost winced from the look in his eyes. It was haunting—it was like he’d been physically injured. Heartbreak was even clearer on his face than before, and the answer to her question was obvious—he was not okay.

He didn’t answer, though, he just inquired miserably, “That’s all you remember?” Foster looked down and bit her lip, and as if by habit, she tugged at her eyelashes. As if by instinct, Keefe, from the other side of her, pulled her hand away from her face. Foster looked down and nodded slowly, painfully.

“Oh, Sophie,” Fitz started. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to imagine what it’s like to be you right now—nearly every memory you have is awful.” Foster winced and shrugged, her hands itching to reach for her face.

Ignoring Fitz’s comment, she voiced another confusing thought she was having. “Why am I able to remember other people and not myself? Don’t people with amnesia not remember anything? What’s happening?”

Alden sighed and said, “I don’t know, Sophie. Truthfully, I have no idea. But this is going to get better. You’ll remember yourself. I promise.”

And then Foster, starting to shake, replied, “I feel like this is all my fault. Everything is my fault. It’s my fault you’re involved in this, it’s my fault that my life is forgotten, it’s my fault that everyone’s so upset. It’s all my fault, and there’s no way I can fix it!”

Something dark roared in her mind and she froze, shooting up, as more soothing colors shot into her brain. She brought herself back, focusing on the feeling of Keefe’s hand as she struggled to breathe in a normal pattern.

Foster was scared, she was utterly terrified. She had no idea who she was, and most of her memories were gone, left only with the most terrifying ones.

And then another, even more terrifying thoughts shot into her brain.

If she was able to remember those close to her, and even they didn’t trigger anything about her identity—would anything?