Page 115 of Goldilocks

“Vi. Thank you.”

Vi graced him with a rare smile. “You are welcome.”

***

They gathered at midday. Two slabs of stone had been brought into the garden, and the black rock had runes chiselled into its face. They were similar to the ones that had been on the knife Roan gifted him, the ones that had burned the ghoul when it tried to pry the weapon out of his chest before it ended his life. Similar, though far more complicated. There were curves and pointed edges, waves and harsh slashes. It was a language Sam did not know how to read and made his eyes itch if he stared for too long.

Eric lay out on one of the stone slabs and shut his eyes when told to do so. A mound covered with a white sheet occupied the other. Even before Vi spoke, the runes warmed red. Sam reached to his side, finding his merman’s hand to clasp. Roan squeezed his fingers and leaned in to murmur a reassuring, “All will be well.” It lasted seconds. One moment Eric’s face was slack, and the next, it was screwed up in pain. His hands shot to his hair to pull, and a broken sob tore free of his chest.

Ivan rushed to his side.

Eric cried into Ivan’s arms, and Roan, upon seeing Eric upset, refused to let Sam go next. Not until after his dad. It was hard to describe the emotions that crossed his dad’s face when he opened his eyes after Vi finished her last spell. Sam went to him, holding his arm even as two nurses crowded the other, calling to him softly and whispering spells that had Oisín’s eyes drowsy, and Sam’s too, until he tuned them out.

“He’s older, and his heart is weary. Better for him to sleep and let his mind catch up,” Vi reassured Sam as his dad was led away.

Eric sat further down the path, head in his hands. Ivan crouched with him, holding him tightly. He petted Eric’s head and murmured soft words into his ear. Words Sam knew would be filled with love, words that would bring relief to his brother in a way Sam didn’t know how, yet the sharp-eyed Ivan always seemed to manage with ease.

“He is alright,” Vi reassured. “It is the shock of everything returning at once. You are a strong family. A strong line. Not many can walk away from a ghoul with their personality intact, never mind maintain any semblance of goodwill.” She placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “There is strength in your family’s kindness, Sam. And it will prevail now as well.”

Sam allowed himself to be led toward the empty slab. He didn’t look at the sheet covering the dead ghoul but caught a whiff of sickening strong flower-scents that masked the smell of a thawing-out corpse. He lay out as Eric and Oisín had and looked for Roan as Vi took up her position between the slabs. A hand at the head of each stone connected them. Eric moved to stand next to Roan, Ivan supporting his arm. Pale-faced and sweaty, Eric offered a nod of encouragement to Sam.

“Do you know,” Vi spoke softly as she leaned over Sam and painted her symbols onto his bare skin. “That Eric did not have one single memory of you stolen from him? The ghoul tried to take you from Eric, and he could not. They are horrible, mean creatures. It took your memories of Eric so it could take you from him that way. It brings me great happiness that I can return him to you. And you to him.” A tear ran down Vi’s cheek and fell from her chin to Sam’s forearm. Sam pulled his gaze from Eric to her; in her eyes was sadness and pride both. “Belle loved Goldilocks with the same fierceness.”

Sam blinked, and tears blurred his vision. Before he could speak a word past his tightening throat, Vi stepped back, the drawings complete.

She raised her hands, and she whispered words of power.

In a swift heartbeat, Sam’s memories of his brother returned.

***

Eric would bring him out to the hills next to their house to watch the newborn lambs in spring as they baaed and frolicked, entertaining Sam for hours at a time as Eric waited, patient and very bored. Eric would do arts and crafts with him. He would bring him to the beaches and build towers out of sand and rock and hard work. He would cook for Sam. Though he was only a teenager, he looked up recipes and made sure Sam was always fed. Always had snacks. Always had a drink.

He used to read to Sam too, until the ghoul snatched away his ability to read. Used to tuck him in at night. Wake him up in the mornings. Smiled and laughed and joked and tickled. And he told Sam how much he loved him. Constantly. And Sam, a happy child – because why wouldn’t he be perfectly happy with Eric making sure he had everything he could ever want – had sung it back.

Other memories returned.

Memories of another green-eyed brother that read to Sam, usually after he’d hit him enough that Sam was either half conscious or too afraid of another blow to move. It used to wait for Sam to come home. It used to haul him into the attic to hang out. Which – and nobody had told him this before they burned the house down – he had fashioned into a room for himself. He would read Sam his school books, chattering in that garbled voice Sam could barely decipher.

Sam remembered how it got angrier and angrier the less Sam came home.

And every plan Sam made – hundreds of them – to escape with his dad had been stolen right out of his head. His ghoulish brother had no interest in Oisín; but he knew that by keeping him alive and in the house, Sam would always have to come back eventually. And if he kept hold of Sam, eventually he would get Eric too. To kill or torment, Sam didn’t know.

Sam slowly became aware of his body. He was sitting on the garden path with his knees pulled to his chest. Warm hands rubbed his legs, and Eric’s soft voice murmured soothing words like‘You’re okay’and‘Just breathe’.

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. Tears fell. There was no stopping them. The memory that pressed against his eyes wasn’t one that he had lost. It was from months ago at his aunt’s birthday party, when Eric had come back to see Sam, and Sam didn’t know him. All that love, and Sam had shrugged like Eric meant absolutely nothing to him.

“We never even fought,” Sam whispered, his throat tight. “You always just gave in right away.”

Eric’s laugh was choked. “You were too cute. And you were so well-behaved, even when you were being a brat, that I could never get mad at you.”

“I remember you. I love you, Eric.”

“I love you too.”

“You’re such a softie,” Sam murmured. The memories were too much to see, all at once, and Sam would need time to get through them all, but the immense feeling was there.

“Is your head bad?”