Remembered (6 page)

A very narrow stream bordered the forest, and when she was
confident that it was light enough to see her way through the trees, she jumped
over it.

 Déjà vu overwhelmed her.

“I’ve done that before,” she said out loud. As impossible as
it seemed, she knew she had jumped that stream hundreds of times.

Then somehow she knew that if she walked through the forest,
she would come to a small cottage that was very familiar. Her logical mind knew
this could not be true. How could she know what lies beyond a forest she’d
never been in? Nevertheless, a buried memory, a part of her that defied logic,
coaxed her forward.

She started to walk quickly, knowing beyond any doubt the
direction that she had to take, not flinching when she heard rustling near her.
She was so sure that nothing dangerous lurked in this place.

After a short walk, she emerged at the far end of the forest,
and there it was, the cottage that she would have recognized anywhere.

Her head was reeling as she walked down the grassy hill
towards the back of the little white stone house. She knew she walked on what
should have been a vegetable garden, but noticed, with disgust, that it had not
been tended in ages; weeds grew wild everywhere. It looked as though this place
had been empty for some time. She felt a stab of sadness, wondering what
happened here, wondering how this all seemed so familiar.

When she reached the narrow cement yard in front of the backdoor,
she pushed down on the latch and sighed with relief when the door swung open
easily.

The inside of the house was cold and damp. A moldy smell hit
her nose; another confirmation that the house had been completely empty for an
extended period.

She walked straight into the kitchen to light the stove, and
thanked heaven that there was enough dry firewood on hand. It was so natural,
so strangely routine to light the stove. How could this be? Had she lived here
as a child? It seemed she must have, or how else could she feel so at ease in
this place?

She stood over the open fire and held her hands to the
flame, not yet closing the oven door. It was colder in the house than outside.

Knowing exactly where the loose tea was kept, she pulled a
pot from the cupboard to boil water and turned to the sink. The water ran a
yellow-brown color. Of course, no one had run the water lately; it was not fit
to drink.

She put her hands back over the open fire of the stove and
looked around, torn between utter shock and a feeling of extreme comfort.
Shocked at what was happening, but comforted by the feeling that only home can
bring. She gave into the comfort, hoping that, in time, she would remember when
and how she knew this place so well.

The room that she stood in was the kitchen and living area
combined. It was a large room with a wooden table surrounded by six chairs,
along with the typical kitchen paraphernalia: sink, stove, food storage, and
cupboards. In the far corner were two large upholstered armchairs.

A corridor outside the kitchen ended at the front door to
the house. To the left was a spare room used for storage. To the right, three
doors in a row: two bedrooms and a bathroom.

She walked around the bedrooms. Everything was so familiar,
so beloved, except…as she stood overlooking one of the beds, she had a strange
feeling that she had seen this room very recently.

She shook her head as if to clear it, walked up the hall,
and opened the front door to be greeted by a view that was as natural as
breathing: the ocean, like an old friend, roared against the shore, welcoming
her home.

As she walked back down the hall, something began to trouble
her. Something pulled on the corner of her mind. She instinctively realized
that something was very wrong. “Something is missing here,” she said aloud,
“something of great importance.” The nagging feeling became stronger, leaving
an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She walked back to the kitchen, racking her brain.

It suddenly struck her with a powerful force. “CORA! MAX!”
she screamed out.

Where were Cora and Max?

She started feeling panic rising inside her finally, and
tears streamed down her face.

Then the ultimate realization sunk in, so much so that she
felt she had been under a spell. She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest,
utterly overwhelmed. “I am Annella Derlyn!” she gasped. “This is my home in
West Vistira!”

This was not a house she’d been in as a child. She grew up
in this little house with her mother and father, as well as her brother and
sister.

She remembered her parents vividly. She remembered the day
they died. She was sixteen when a carriage they were riding in went over the
cliffs of the East-West Crossing, leaving her to raise her twin siblings, Max
and Cora, who were only twelve at the time.

She knew instinctively that she had lived in this little
house for some years after that, doing everything in her power to give Max and
Cora a stable life as they grew into their teenage years.

But where were they now?

It was evident that this house had been empty for ages.
Where could they have gone? What happened to them? They were still considered
minors, or they
were
the last time she’d seen them.

Gripping the edge of the table for support, she shut her
eyes and tried to think straight. She needed to find the twins, but had no idea
where they were, or how long she’d been away from this place. She took several
deep breathes to steady her heartbeats. Her head swam. She prayed she wouldn’t
faint.

She sat down at the wooden table and stared at the wall. Ages
passed: minutes, hours, she couldn’t tell how long. Her mind was shutting down
from shock.

Then she knew, she remembered where she had seen that
bedroom recently—her bedroom. Under hypnosis with Dr. Lewis, she remembered
looking at that bed when she felt the hand cover her mouth. When a stranger
named Lionel had kidnapped her and taken her who-knows-where.

She remembered something else: Mr. and Mrs. Wellum—an
elderly couple that lived in the house down the hill. They were her closest
neighbors. Mr. Wellum sold fish at a stall in town and coincidently, was not
only the town’s fishmonger, but also the local gossipmonger. How many times she
had been apprehended by him and forced to hear the private doings of the
townsfolk, she couldn’t begin to guess. Nothing ever happened in West Vistira
that he didn’t know about. If he didn’t know where the twins were, no one
would.

The other mysteries would have to wait. First, she needed to
find her brother and sister.

She stumbled out of the front door and down the hill towards
the Wellum’s house.

She prayed that they still lived there, that they were home
and that they had some information on the whereabouts of the twins, even if
logic told her that her house had been empty for a long time. They could be
long gone from the village by now.

She was so panicked that vomit crept up her throat.

She pounded on the Wellum’s front door, forgetting the early
hour.

Mrs. Wellum answered after a moment. Emily, or rather,
Annella, shook with relief at the sight of her elderly neighbor.

Mrs. Wellum’s eyes widened. She stood in the doorway, put a
hand over her heart and stumbled backward. Her face drained of all color.

Emily was vaguely aware of the shock she’d caused the woman,
and then realized that she was following Mrs. Wellum into her home as she
backed away from her.

“Annella? Annella Derlyn, is that you?” Mrs. Wellum said.
She had found her voice, but it was strained, stunned.

“Yes, it’s me,” Emily answered, desperation causing her
voice to sound two octaves higher than normal.

“How can this be? You’ve been gone for over six months. You
were presumed dead. The whole town searched for you…” Mr. Wellum trailed off,
still clutching her heart.

Gone for over six months. But what about the life time she
had lived in New York City? Was that real or did she imagine that? She felt her
head spinning. “May I sit down for a second,” she asked.

Mrs. Wellum led her into the living room, never taking her
eyes off the younger woman as though she was a ghost. She was visible
frightened.

“Over six months,” Emily said in quiet bewilderment. “How?

After another moment of silence passed, she realized that
she needed to focus on her brother and sister first. If they were gone, nothing
else would ever matter. “Mrs. Wellum, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I assure you,
I am not a ghost. I was taken from my home, but have managed to make it back.
It’s really me.”

“Annella, what happened to you? Where have you been?” Mrs.
Wellum asked in a quiet voice. She seemed to relax slightly, believing that Annella
was really in front of her. Her expression turned to one of genuine concern.

“I was taken against my will, I think. I’m still not sure. I
haven’t had time to work it all out yet. And I can’t think about that when
there is something more important that I need.” Emily looked into the elderly
woman’s eyes pleadingly. “Do you know what happened to my brother and sister?”

Mrs. Wellum nodded. “A short time after you went missing, a
young man came here. He took the twins away in his horse and carriage.”

“What? Who was he? Do you mean that Cora and Max were
kidnapped also?” Emily demanded, feeling mind-numbing panic.

“I don’t believe your siblings were taken against their
will,” Mrs. Wellum replied “I don’t know who this young man was. I had never
seen him before. He had dark hair and was extremely handsome. At any rate, Cora
waved to me as they passed. She looked terribly sad, but not the least bit
frightened. I’m sure they must have known him. I’m sorry I can’t tell you
anymore.”

Emily put her face in her hands and let out a pained moan.
Where would she begin to look for them? They were still considered children
after all, even if only marginally.

“Annella, my husband has gone to town, to market already. He
will know where the twins are. I’m sure he tried to tell me who took them away,
but I tire of his gossiping at times. I turn a deaf ear to him,” Mrs. Wellum
offered sympathetically.

“Thank you,” she said, getting to her feet. That gave her
hope, but not much. She was sure that Mr. Wellum would have more information,
but what if it was too late? What if she never found them? She stood up and
made her way to the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Wellum. Thank you very much.”

“Good luck, dear,” Mrs. Wellum replied. She walked her to
the door, her hand still covering heart. “You have no idea what a blessing it
is to see you again. I thank the heavens that you made it home safely.”

In spite of the empty, desperate feeling inside of Emily,
she couldn’t help noticing how at home she felt. It was all so familiar, and it
was beautiful.

She knew every little house on either side of the road. To
the right was a sharp hill—behind the houses—that ended with another road, and
across that road was the ocean, it’s water bluer than any she’d ever seen.

Everything was much brighter here as if a veil had been
lifted from her eyes: colors more vivid, sounds sharper, and smells more
potent.

She watched the ocean all the way down the hill until the
road turned left, away from the sea and towards town.

 Two story buildings came into view—the town of West
Vistira.

She looked down at her clothing: jeans, sneakers, and a New
York Mets hoodie. This was not good. People in Vistira did not dress this way.
Women and girls wore long skirts or dresses. Pants or trousers were worn only
by men, and jeans were none existent. Luckily, it was early morning, and not
many people were in the streets yet.

She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head,
trying to pull it as far down her face as possible. She walked with her head
down, hoping to be unnoticed, knowing that her clothing might make that
impossible. If everyone in town thought she had died, the last thing she wanted
was to be bombarded with attention and awkward questions.

Turning left unto Main Street—where the market was held
every day—she looked up to see a large building that was the town’s center. It
was out of proportion with the rest of the buildings—gray stone, enormous, with
a large tower on the left hand side, making it look almost like a castle. The
words
‘The Citadom’
sat etched into the stone above two large wooden
doors. The sight of the Citadom caused a twinge, a strange flutter in her
stomach. It seemed to hold something of significance to her, but she couldn’t
recall what.

 She
did
remember, however, that this building housed
Vistira’s government and law enforcers. But the men of the Citadom were not
like typical police, they were more like peacekeepers, healers, and spiritual
advisors all wrapped into one. They were commonly referred to as Peacemen.

The men of the Citadom were handpicked for this position,
sometimes at a young age, due to some outstanding quality or sixth sense, like
strong initiations, healing talents, or they may display strong leadership
abilities. They took an oath to serve the public and forfeited a normal life,
living the remainder of their days in the large gray building, unselfishly
committed to the service of others. Each man was a soldier, politician, priest,
and anything else they were needed to be—like Buddhist monks merged with
firefighters, doctors, lawyers, and with a little NYPD thrown in. Among the
many things they learned, they were also trained in holistic and spiritual
healing.

Emily looked to the right and scanned the stalls that made
up the morning market, looking for an elderly man selling fish. It was all so
strangely familiar.

The market consisted of twenty stalls spread out around the
town square—the large cobblestone center of town, bordered on all four sides by
buildings. The Citadom stood alone on one side. To the left of the Citadom was
the Bank Building, the second largest building in town, which also had a large
stone staircase leading to the doorway, though not as steep as the steps to the
Citadom. To the right was a row of two story buildings, and another row of
similar buildings faced forward. Shops occupied the first floors.