Page 1 of Lost Echoes

1

Kenzi

Early morning light filters through the thick window, making me think I’ve forgotten something. Somewhere I should be. A performance to put on. But I can’t get out of this room.

I’ve already tried.

My final act is yet to come, and I have to prepare. The stage is set, and people are waiting for me. I’m the main actor. The favorite. Everyone will cheer and beg for more after the last line.

Laurel told me. She’s never wrong.

I spin, turning my back to the window. It’s my job to wait until I’m called to the stage, and I’ll do just that. As long as she wants me to be patient, I will be. She’s the director.

The door still won’t unlock, and the current scene doesn’t call for me, so I walk around the room, running my finger along every smooth surface. Things are so white in here. There’s hardly a splash of color. Must be to keep me from getting distracted. While I wait, I’ll focus on my part.

Click.

I whip around. The door is creaking open from the outside.

Is it Laurel? Could she be here to call me to the stage?

My breath hitches, and I cling to the blanket next to me. What am I thinking? I fluff my hair and stand straight. Need to show her I’m ready and eager to start. I know my lines and will do everything perfectly.

This play will go down in the books. She’ll be so proud.

Someone else steps inside. She’s dressed all in white, like a nurse.

Is there a nurse in this show? I don’t remember a nurse.

I don’t remember my lines.

Terror grips me. I can hardly breathe. My lines! Laurel will be so disappointed.

The stranger in white gives me a tired smile. “How are you doing now?”

She makes it sound as if we’ve already met.

It’s a trick. She’s trying to trap me.

Or it’s a test. Laurel could see if I’m in character.

Why can’t I remember my lines? I just knew them. Had them down perfectly.

“Mackenzie?”

She’s calling me by my full name. Something must be wrong. I stare at her. “Why are you here? Are you the stagehand?”

“I’m checking on you.” She says it like I should already know.

How would that be possible?

“You haven’t touched your breakfast.” Her palms sweep toward a tray on a bed I didn’t notice before. “You have to eat.”

Why is there a bed in my dressing room?

“Aren’t you hungry?”

I don’t know if I am or not. The audience is waiting for me.