With a sudden jolt I woke up. I quickly realized that I had no clue where I was. I looked around. I was in a large room. The walls seemed to be made out of stone. I figured that I was in an old building, probably in Old City. All the buildings in New City where made of steel or normal, modern day, materials. I was hooked up to a heart monitor. So maybe a hospital? That didn't make any sense to me. I knew all the hospitals. My family members each used a different one and used them often. My family was... Quite ill. I was the only "healthy" person in the whole family. What also didn't make sense was that I was the only one in the room. If this was in fact some kind of treatment or care room then I shouldn't have been the only one here. There should have been more than one bed in here. Questions flew around my head.
After a few more minutes the door opened. In walked a blonde man. He had his hands stuck in his pockets. He looked at me and the gently closed the door behind him. When he turned back to me he just stared. His eyes conveyed deep sadness and loss. He wasn't wearing black so I didn't think he was in mourning. Slowly he walked towards me. On the way he grabbed a stool. When he reached me he set the stool down and sat on it. He stared at me for a few moments. I was just getting ready to ask him to stop or to ask my questions when he spoke. "Shana."
I froze. That was the forbidden name. Many years ago I had had this dream where a young boy and a women were holding my hands and said that name. The next morning I told my family about it and they had flipped. They screamed and yelled. I was hit several times and told to never speak of that again. The name in my dream was the name of my dead twin apparently and I was to never mention her again. I got smacked some more for good measure. It was the only time I ever got hit by my family. I never spoke the name again. I overheard the name spoken once that same night that I had mentioned my dream. My parents were speaking to my godparents. My mother said, " You said she wouldn't remember. You promised!" My godparents calmly replied that after all that they had said that they were sure that I would hardly ever think of it again. After that I never heard the name again and I tried not to think of it.
The look on my face must have given my inner turmoil and confusion away because a horrified look crossed his face. "They beat your own name out of you." He turned red and turned around. I could no longer see his face but I saw his shaking form.
I quickly spoke to tell the true story. "My name is Raven. Shana is my dead twin sister. I only have one memory of her. Please tell me what's going on!" I pleaded. This man was scaring me.
It took a couple moments, but the man did turn around. As I looked into his eyes I saw that he was crying. Tears rolled down his face as he looked at me. He didn't sit down again. Slowly he spoke. "There is no Raven, only Shana." I started to protest and he held up his hand. "You asked for an explanation and this is it. Please listen." I quieted. "When you were three you were taken from your family, my family. We were at the park and I broke my knee. I had to be rushed to the hospital. No one was watching you for a few minutes. When the ambulance came mom went to get you as they loaded me up. On the bench next to where you were left, in mom's purse, was a note. We took your daughter. We don't want your money. There is no way to get her back. Forget about her. She will be taken good care of. Don't worry about her. She is just too special to remain with you. If you want someone to blame, blame your dead ex boyfriend. He is the reason she is so special. Good-bye. Shana is no more. Go to the police and we will know. You will die if you do. We never went to the police but we tried everything to find you. We walked every street in New and Old City. After three or so years mom went to the police and gave them the note and told them everything. Three days later she was killed, every police officer who had been told died, and I was left with this scar." He pulled his shirt up and along his left side was a scar. It reached from the bottom rip to below his pants line. It was pink, as if it was still healing. "Dad had to be institutionalized. He never got over losing you. And when Mom died it was to much."
At that moment in time all I could do was stare. His mouth had kept moving. I had seen him form the explanation he had clearly practiced. But somehow none of the words had reached my ears. There had only static. All I had thought was, "This guy is crazy. I am not related to this guy. I am an only child. I am not special enough to have been kidnapped. Yes my parents are not the nicest people in the world but they are still my parents.