Memory loss chapter 2- A Month Later
A rise of the brave tangled dragons fanfic
Authors note: hey! ^^ back with the next chapter- this one should explain a few things. I hope you enjoy it please review^^ you know it means the world to me! That's all for now though- I'll see you tommorow with the next chapter^^
Darkness. It surrounded him. He couldn't see a thing, instead relying on instinct and hearing to move around. He stumbled blindly down a winding passageway, an exact copy of the many others he'd run through. There was a throbbing stitch in his side, but he had to keep going. Maybe if kept running one of these passages would lead to a way outside, then he might finally be free. He just had keep going, and find the right passage... before... He sensed rather than saw the figure appear in front of him, gliding out of the shadows. He halted, just avoiding slamming into the now solid figure in front of him.
"Really now, Jack, you're beginning to annoy me with all these breakouts. Why don't you just accept that there's no way out?" The words almost hit their mark- he'd been stopped again, perhaps he would never get out of here! But then, a blazing, defiant piece of hope appeared. A permanent part of him, thanks to a close friend, that had now become a lifeline in the unknown eternity he'd been trapped here. The man must have sensed his resistance because he laughed malevolently. "Still hiding behind your precious Guardian friends, hmm? Well let me tell you, I've seen the Northern Lights go out quite a few times since you've been down here, and guess what... they've abandoned you." No they wouldn't, he thought desperately. "They've forgotten you, and they've replaced you with the next passing spirit that came by." No no, it wasn't true! "You never were one of them, Jack. They never cared about you, they were just using you." He pressed his hands against his head, trying to block out the darkness, the dreadful, endless whispering- every dark or low thought he'd ever had swamping him all at once. Yet amidst the babble, he could still make out the man's voice ringing clearly in his ears, as he strode towards him, taking clear pleasure in his terror. The muttering in his head grew louder.
"You are mine now, Jack. There is no escape." The noise grew deafening, the flame of hope flickered and died as the darkness overwhemed him.
A hand on his shoulder jolted him to reality, and he woke with a start.
"Jack, come on dear. Everyone else is up." A woman with a Scottish accent told him, as she opened the bedroom curtains. "Breakfast is ready, when you want come down." She said, her tone making it clear anything hot would be cold by now, and exited the room.
He sighed, it happened again. He'd been having nightmares about pretty much the same thing every night. He tried to remember what it was about: he was trying to escape, there was a man, and he was taunting him about... being trapped- no, hold on- it was dark, and then there was a man, and- wait, there was darkness and... he dumped his head back into his pillow ... darkness.
This happened every time. He never could remember what he was dreaming about, the memory faded the moment he woke.
He lay there for a moment, before distant indestinct noises caught his attention. He spotted an iPod by his pillow, tiny bursts of static were coming from the speakers. He must have fallen asleep as he was listening to the audiobook one of the nurses from when he'd been at the hospital had recommended to him.
He'd stayed at the hospital for around a week before they realised his memory just wasn't coming back. New discovery, though, the aching all over his body was because of bruises. They covered all his body, big and black. The local newspapers came up with numerous theories; he was robbed on a street, beaten, and left unconscious; he was a victim of domestic abuse, who ran away; one small newspaper even went so far as to suggest that the appearance of a kid with white hair (actual white, not pale blond white), was some sort of etherial sign. Meanwhile back in the world of reality, they were trying to find out who he was. They'd checked all local police files, but none of them reported a missing child that fit his description- and with his distinctive white hair, you could them all out immediately. So then in came social services, and- long story short, he eventually round up here.
It was difficult, finding a place for him. Not many people wanted to take in a teen of unknown age, with no memory and, oh- just to top it off- while he was at the hospital they'd discovered he was illiterate and innumerate, so he was going to be awkward at school as well.
Eventually, they did find a place willing to foster him, but before he'd left, one of the nurses ("Joy"), who'd gotten to know him quite well, recommended an audiobook for him to listen to- "The Lost Hero". The main character was also an amnesiac, a boy who woke up in the middle of nowhere. The difference being not all kids with memory loss can fly on the wind- if only they could, that would be cool. However awesome it may sound though, he wasn't about to jump off the Grand Canyon to test it out.
He looked at the screen of the iPod, it had moved on to the second book in the series overnight. Out of curiosity, he put an earphone up to his ear and listened. Apparently this one also contained a kid with memory loss, as the voice read:
"Since he'd lost his memory, his whole life felt like one big fill-in-the-blank. He was _, from _. He felt like _ , and if the monsters caught him, he'd be _." Jack could relate. Minus the monsters part, he could have almost written it himself- if he knew how to write.
He stood up and stretched, looking at the clock. 10:56. It was the summer holidays, and the weekend to boot, so he was allowed to lie in. Still, if he just threw some clothes on, maybe he could salvage something cooked for breakfast. So with a fresh(ish) set of clothes on, he made his way downstairs.
Apparently he wasn't the only one who slept in because, as he entered the kitchen/dining room, he saw a red head sat at the table, with a bleary expression on her face.
"Woah, Scotland. Is that your hair, or some wild animal attacking your head?" He had a point, the tangle of curls surrounding her head appeared to have a life of its own, refusing to be tamed by any comb or brush.
"Och yeah, and what's with the angry chihuahua on your head?" She retorted, pointing a spoon at his own severe bed head.
"Merida, ladies do not point." The brunette haired woman from earlier scoffed. The mother of the house was Elinor. The only non-adopted child in the house was her daughter, Merida, and Elinor was determined to make a lady out of her. Jack highly doubted that- if Merida was a lady, he was Scottish. Still, they got on pretty well, even despite the constant bickering. All the arguing reminded him of someone, he thought... maybe... he didn't know.
Speaking of Scottish, though, Fergus- Merida's father- came in. It was from him she got her wild, red locks.
"Och leave her be, she has wild, spirited locks of her ancestors, she does. The wild untameable hair of the family of Dunbroch." He said- as if they constantly needed reminding of the famile's heritage, their accents were proof enough that they were descended from highlanders.
"Feet off the table, Fergus." Elinor reproached. Obviously the untameable nature of his hair didn't extend to the rest of him, because he dutifully removed his feet with a quiet "Sorry dear". Jack hadn't made it in time for a meaty breakfast, so he settled for cereal.
He'd barely sat down when the doorbell rang.
"That'll be Rapunzel." Elinor informed, ever organised and punctual with the day's events. What she said startled him- he had a dim recollection of one of Merida's friends coming over for the day, but so soon? Then he looked up at the clock and remembered- oh yeah, they said she'd be here for eleven.
Merida quickly shoved her almost empty bowl into the sink, in preparation for the visitor.
"Hiccup, could you get the door please." Elinor asked. A teen about the same age as the other two went to do as he was told.
He was skinny- even by Jack standards. That along with his brown hair, and green eyes, set him apart as the other child the Dunbroch's had (originally fostered, then) adopted. Again, they got on well. He didn't talk massively, but apparently away from school he never had much to do so he often just buried himself in a book, or, more often than not, his drawing pad. Jack guessed they'd adopted Hiccup to have some sort of level headed influence on Merida. If that was the case had they fostered him because they were getting bored?-because things definately got interesting if you kept the white and red heads in the same room for too long. Hiccup looked a lot more awake than the other two, having obviously got up a few hours earlier than the other teens.
A chirpy, somewhat familiar, voice accompanied the sound of the door opening and closing, and the sound of footsteps leading into the living room.
He knew that voice...
Jack shoved his untouched cereal into the bin- it was too late for breakfast, and almost lunchtime, anyway- and got up to see the new arrival.
He turned into the living room, and froze. It was her.