Page 3

Arching my neck, giant windows peered back at me, causing my reflection to morph and twist as the sunset teased my doppelganger. It was a bizarre feeling to see my face, to know that the person staring back wasactuallyme, and have no memory of what I looked like.

Stopping short, I took in my reflection, learning my features all over again. My hair was made of big brown curls, tousled and knotted, with broken flakes of leaves and debris tangled in the locks. My eyes were dark brown, I assumed, but it was hard to tell against the glass.

All my limbs looked thin and brittle under the skin, like I hadn't eaten in ages and my body had started to find its food from within. I had on a dirty blue t-shirt with a unicorn in the center, spouting the phrase, 'You're awesome,' and nothing else but a pair of shorts, and filthy white socks.

I was shocked and captivated all in the same breath. Reaching for my cheeks, I stroked the cold skin, feeling myself to make sure this was true, that what I was seeing was actually real.

It was.

This wasn't a dream, I wasn't waking up, coddling a thick comforter and tear-soaked pillow. I was a ghost to myself, a mirage of a young girl that once had a life, a past, an entire world that didn't exist anymore.

Strong fingers squeezed the outside of my arms, and Nick leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It's all right, we'll get you cleaned up, don't worry about what you see.” Ushering me along, he started forward again.

Hesitantly, I allowed his hands to manipulate me through the yard and to the door. “This is your house?” I asked, my voice still not registering inside my head as my own.

“Yeah, it's Birch, myself, and his mother, my wife Valentina.” Nodding his head at his son, he eyed the door.

Birch jogged ahead a few steps, folding down the handle to let us through. Leading me to a long wood table, Birch pulled out a chair and Nick sat me down.

Combing his thick fingers through my hair, he smiled. “I don't want you to worry, no matter what, I'll take care of you. I'm going to make a few calls and see if we can figure this out. Relax here, Birch will get you some water and keep you company until I get back. Sound good?”

“Okay.” Forcing a smile, I slouched in the seat, resting my hands in my lap. “Thank you.”

Running flat palms down my head and over my shoulders, his smile widened. “Don't thank me, you don't need to. I'll be back in a bit.” Nudging my chin with his fist, he turned and walked out of the room, disappearing around the corner.

For the first time since I opened my eyes, I felt some hope. Nick was going to find the answers, he was going to find out who I was and where I belonged. That thought dried my tears, it gave me something to cling to instead of feeling like everything was spiraling out of control.

Taking in a deep breath, I tugged my shirt down further so it covered my knees, and looked around the room. Their house was gorgeous. Everything sparkled and twinkled like it had been waxed and shined.

Silver and gold trinkets rested on a shelf above the sink. The fridge was made of stainless steel, completely barren of any pictures or magnets. A giant wicker bowl of fruit was set in the center of the table, cradled by two tall candles in crystal holders.

Staring at my hands, dirt had embedded itself under my nails, covering my skin and arms. Wiping my palms on my shirt, I tried to clean them off. I was too dirty to be sitting in that house.

It felt like I didn't belong there, as if I was a peasant given clearance to sit in a castle. My filth was a disease, my dirt a calling card to the status I held in that room.

Frantically I rubbed and rubbed the skin until it started to turn red and raw. I wanted it gone, I wanted any reminder of where I had crawled out of erased.

Come on, get off.

Brushing my fingers through my hair, I pulled and plucked at the bits of leaves and tiny sticks. The small debris floated into my lap, dressing my shirt like soiled snowflakes.

“Don't worry about that, just sit and relax like my dad said.” The faucet gushed on, and the sound of water spilled into a cup. Soft feet tapped to my side, and Birch rested the glass of water down in front of me. “Here, try not to drink it too fast.”

Birch slipped into the chair across from me, and I glanced up with a light smile. “Thanks.” Curling my fingers around the cup, I lifted it to my lips and took small sips.

Birch sat staring at me. He had that same look I had seen outside. Fear, discomfort, uncertainty, it was all there, lashing my skin like whips from a belt. He didn't know what to make of the girl who ended up in his woods.

He doesn't know what to think. . . How the hell does he think I feel?

With jet black hair and a jaw that was still young but forming, I guessed he was about fourteen. He was too young to have knowledge earned by experience, but he looked like he had lived a million years of suffering.

It was hard to make sense of what I was seeing, of the eyes looking at me, reading me, wondering about me.

Nervously, his fingers tapped against the table, and his leg jerked up and down against the floor. “So, you really can't remember anything?”

Swallowing the cold water, it quenched my dry throat and made me feel a little bit more normal, and not as shaky. “No, nothing at all.”

“Are you sure? You really can't remember anything before this?”