Unforgotten (5 page)

“
…
human.”

The two syllables hang in the air like a puff of stale smoke, waiting for the wind to determine which way they will drift. How long they will stay.

When I look down at Jane again, her forehead is furrowed and I immediately fear that I’ve failed at my attempt to entertain her. “But she wasn’t an animal,” she argues, confusion soaked into her small voice.

“N-no,” I try to explain, stammering slightly, “I meant, she didn’t feel … real.”

Jane is pensive. She appears to be absorbing everything I said. Analyzing it. Deciding whether or not this qualifies as a satisfactory story.

“If she wasn’t real,” she finally says, “then she wouldn’t have been able to run away from the bad people. That was a good choice.”

My smile is strained. “I suppose it was.”

There’s a long silence in which neither one of us speaks or looks at the other. Finally, I feel a soft tug on the sleeve of my shirt. I glance down to see that Jane has ever so carefully peeled away the cuff to reveal the thin, black mark underneath.

She studies it for a moment. Then, with surprising boldness, she reaches out with one tiny finger—barely a twig—and touches it. Sweeps along the length of the line. Delicate. Like a baby mouse running across my skin. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I don’t say anything. I don’t try to move away. I just watch. And feel.

“She needs to hide really well.” Jane finally speaks, her voice quiet but steady. Unusually wise for her age.

She removes her hand, allowing the sleeve to fall back into place, concealing the inside of my left wrist once again. “So they can never ever find her.”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes liquid and sparkling.

My bottom lip starts to tremble. I bite down on it hard. Small droplets of blood trickle onto my tongue. I swallow them.

“Yes,” I say, trying to ignore the bitter metallic taste in my mouth. “She does.”

5

INSTINCTIVE

My favorite times of the day are early in the morning before everyone is awake, when I sometimes sit alone and watch the sunrise, and late at night. After dinner has been eaten, the dishes have been cleaned and put away, the children have been tucked into their beds, and Mr. and Mrs. Pattinson have retired to their room. That’s when Zen and I slip out the front door, tiptoe across the dark field, duck under the split-rail fence, and retreat into the woods.

It’s the one place where we can be alone. Where I no longer have to hide. Where I can be myself.

And where we can have total privacy.

Tonight, when we arrive in our usual clearing, Zen sets the lantern off to the side, bathing the shadowy forest in a gentle, warm light. He immediately gets to work preparing the space, pulling large armfuls of leaves, moss, and shrubbery from the surrounding area and arranging it on the cold dirt floor to create a soft surface. I wait near the trunk of a thick elm tree and watch him. Waiting for his cue.

Once he’s finished, he stands in the middle of the bed he just created and stares across the opening at me. “I want to try something new tonight,” he begins, his voice measured and careful.

“New?” I repeat, anxiety instantly creeping into my voice.

He obviously can hear it because he gives me one of his looks. His head lowers and tilts half an inch to the right. His dark eyes peer intensely into mine and his lips press together.

“It’s all right,” he tells me.

I nod and stare back at him, trying to match the determination on his face with an expression of my own. But I’m feeling far less confident than he looks right now.

“This time, I want
you
to come to
me
,” he says, keeping his voice calm and even.

I immediately shake my head. Without even taking the time to think about it. There’s nothing to think about. I can’t do that. I simply can’t.

But Zen is one step ahead of me. “You can do this.”

I shake my head again. I can already feel my legs starting to tremble. Readying to flee. Like springs coiling in anticipation.

“Yes, you can.”

“Zen … I—” I start to say.

But he quickly interrupts. “It’s just like every other night. Fight against it. You are stronger than your instincts.”

I close my eyes, focusing on that sensation that’s starting to blaze through my legs like fire, screaming at me to run the other way. To get as far away from here as possible.

I swallow hard and try to push it down. Deep down. Until I can’t hear it anymore.

“Run toward me,” Zen commands from a few yards away. “You can do this. I am your enemy. Everything you fear. Everything you hate.”

The woods are deathly still and silent. As though all the animals and insects and leaves are eagerly waiting to see what will happen. Holding their breath in anticipation. I can see Zen breathing deeply. Puffing himself up. Preparing for what I’m still not sure I can do.

And then he lets out a low, guttural growl. “ATTACK ME!”

My eyes snap open. I don’t give my muscles any time to think. I don’t give that deep-rooted instinct any time to argue. I charge forward, running straight toward him. He widens his stance, crouching slightly to stabilize himself better.

I crash into him. He staggers but stays upright. His hand cuts through the air as he aims a left hook at my face. I duck and return with a roundhouse kick that catches Zen squarely in the shins. He yelps and goes down but is back on his feet in an instant, panting for air.

I can’t!
I hear a voice inside me scream.
I can’t do this!

I eye the narrow path back to the house, every muscle in my body wanting to take it. Wanting to retreat. The forest calls to me. The calm of the escape. The security of those trees.

I take a step toward them.

“No!” Zen yells. “Don’t do it. Don’t listen! You’re stronger than them. They don’t control you anymore. You don’t belong to Diotech.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

He’s said it. For the first time since we arrived, he’s said their name. Aloud. For anyone to hear. Including
them
.

But it worked. My head whips back toward him. A bitter, furious energy swells inside me. I gaze intensely into his eyes. My teeth clenched. My muscles burning.

He throws a punch toward my stomach.

I block it with ease.

Another aimed at my chest.

Blocked.

A third flies at my face.

But it’s sloppy and unformed. Desperate. I catch his fist mid-swing and twist it until he’s forced to spin around and press his back into me. I’ve got him in a vulnerable position, which means it’s time to finish him. Fast. I kick my right leg out, wrap it around his calf, and yank hard. Just as Zen taught me. His head snaps back and his body collapses against the carpeting of leaves and moss. I don’t waste a second waiting to see if he’s able to get up again. I’m immediately on top of him, one knee on the ground, the other crushing his chest. I jam the heel of my hand squarely against his windpipe. His chin juts up in response. With my strength, all it would take is one tiny ounce of pressure and he’d be dead.

Zen twists, trying to get away. I push my knee down harder against his rib cage until I hear him groan and he stops struggling. I stay still in my position, poised to take his life at the slightest provocation, until I hear him gasp, “Good,” through his constricted throat.

I remove my palm and release my leg, bringing it down to the other side of his torso. Zen coughs slightly as the air returns to his lungs and then pushes himself onto his elbows and grins up at me with unabashed pride.

It takes me a moment to register what just happened. It’s almost as though my mind simply vacated my body during those brief few seconds. Shut off. I blink and look down at Zen, still pinned beneath me, looking happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.

“You did it,” he tells me.

“I did?” I’m still somewhat dazed.

“Yes!”

I did it.
I can hardly believe it. I fought my instinct to run. To flee. I was able to combat the very programming of my DNA.

I was able to
fight
.

When the scientists at Diotech created me, they tweaked my genetic code to give me a flight-over-fight instinct. To make me a deer, not a lion. Which means that every time I’m presented with a perceived threat or danger, I will run away from it. Without even giving myself time to think. It was feared that if I ever decided to rebel against the people who had created me, and tried to fight against them, with my superior strength, I would surely win. So my DNA was coded this way as a precaution.

For the past six months Zen has worked with me to try to overcome it. So that I would be able to protect myself. In case they ever …

Well, in case I was ever in danger.

Zen was convinced that given enough time, enough practice, I could rise above it. Which is why every night, after the house has gone to sleep, we come out here and Zen teaches me how to fight. How to take down an attacker. How to render someone immobile. How to disarm an opponent. Whatever I can do to give myself time to get away.

Tonight is a major milestone. It’s the first night I’ve been able to fight … and win. Not to run away. Not to flee. And more than that, tonight
I
was the one to initiate the confrontation.
I
was the one to attack.

I became the lion.

A matching grin spreads across my face as the realization of my accomplishment sinks in. I glance at Zen, who’s still staring up at me with wild, gleeful eyes.

I dive down and plant my lips against his, kissing him hard. My legs kick out behind me and I reposition myself on top of him. I’m starving for him. Ravenous. Desperate to hold on to this feeling of exhilaration for as long as possible and transform it into something more. Something else.

An unfamiliar sensation that I don’t recognize starts to overpower me. Take control of me.

My legs are tingling again. In fact, my whole body is tingling. Prickling with a strange alertness. But this time, it’s different. It’s not because I want to run. It’s because I want to stay. I want more. I want to be closer to him than I’ve ever been before.

I press my mouth more intensely into his, grip the sides of his face, and pull him toward me until I can feel our bodies crushing against each other.

Zen shifts beneath me and lets out a soft moan. It’s not the sound of pleasure. It’s the sound of pain. I recognize the difference immediately and pull back. “Are you okay?”

He laughs, reaching up and tenderly touching the back of his head. “Yeah. You took me down pretty hard though. I feel a splitting headache coming on.”

Panicked, I roll off him and launch to my feet. “I’m sorry!” I cry, recognizing the familiar sense of guilt that’s starting to coat my stomach like a wet rag.

He struggles to sit up, wincing. “It’s okay. I
did
ask for it.”

I offer him my hand and he takes it, his face twisting in discomfort as I gently pull him to his feet. He wobbles slightly before grabbing on to a nearby low-hanging branch to steady himself. He rests his head against the surface and closes his eyes for a moment that lasts a second too long.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

He forces a weak smile. “Yes. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

I nod, blinking. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he whispers into the tree. “You did great.”

A stiff wind rustles the leaves above us and somewhere in the distance I swear I hear a woman’s voice. It’s vaporous and airy. Like it’s only half-formed. Half-spoken.

“Find me.”

My head jerks up and I glance around, searching for the source. But apart from the sleeping forest animals and creaking trees, we are alone.

“What’s the matter?” Zen asks, peering at me with a concerned expression.

“Did you hear that?”

Zen lifts his head. “Hear what?”

“A voice,” I say, tilting my ear toward the dark sky. “I swear I heard a woman’s voice.”

Zen takes a teetering step away from the tree, wincing slightly. “I didn’t hear anything,” he says through strained breath.

I’m alarmed by his weakness. I grab the lantern and hurry over to him, draping his arm around my neck. We walk ever so slowly back to the house, and I allow him to lean on me the whole way.

I admit it’s a nice change.

6

LOCKED

I help Zen out of his leather boots first, then his doublet, shirt, and breeches. He collapses into the pillows and is asleep almost instantly. I take my time unlacing my corset, relishing the beautiful release when it finally liberates my waist from its clenching wooden embrace. I slide out of my long skirt, change into my linen nightdress, and braid my loose hair down my back.

I glance across the room at Zen, his chest rising and falling.

He usually looks so peaceful in his sleep but tonight his face is contorted by a subtle grimace, making me think that I should have gone easier on him out in the woods. After all, he’s just a regular person. And I’m … well …

I’m me.

I blow out the lantern, tiptoe across the squeaky floorboards, and climb into bed next to Zen. He stirs slightly and rolls toward me, wrapping his arm instinctively around my body.

It’s something he does every night, but this time, for some odd reason, it feels different.
I
feel different. His touch, which always comforts me and puts me at ease, somehow manages to do the opposite. It makes me feel anxious and uneasy. But it’s not bad. It’s … it’s …

Amazing.

I glance down at his bare shoulder, glowing faintly from the moonlight that streams in the window. Then my gaze slides along his shirtless back, drinking in the soft lines that curve and dimple around his muscles, the velvetiness of his skin, the proximity of his lips to the top of my arm.

And suddenly I have trouble breathing. I want to reach out and touch him more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I push myself closer to him but it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I need to feel his bare skin against my own.