A Matter of Course

By: cultureandseptember

Chapter Five: Remember


"It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link in the chain can be handled at a time."

– Winston Churchill (February 27, 1945)


The next morning required coffee. When I staggered into the kitchen, John was already in the middle of brewing the stuff. His jeans were wrinkled and his once crisp white polo was sporting a few spots. I noticed one particular big mess was from the Arby's sandwich he had eaten after we had spent several hours at Loraine's house. I wondered whether or not he had gotten any sleep at all. Considering the television was on in the living room (set to an early-morning news station) and the fact that my grandmother's hand-quilted blanket was still folded, I guessed that he really hadn't gotten much rest. His face was drawn and his eyes tired. He looked ready to fall over at any second. Upon noticing this, I sat my hands upon his shoulders and guided him to a seat at the counter. He offered no protest. "Momma should be up soon. It's five-thirty."

John sighed, arms sliding forward until his head fell onto them. "I'm so freakin' tired, it's not even funny."

I nodded, understanding completely. I hadn't actually fallen asleep until about four-fifteen. There were far too many thoughts in my head. They buzzed around and around and around as I lay in that darkness. Eventually, due to a rather sudden and violent fear of that darkness, I turned on my bedside lamp. It was only then that I was able to drift into sleep. Barely an hour of good sleep did not bode well for the coming day, not that anything else bode well anyway. Why not keep everything consistent? Slowly, I moved to lean on the island counter. "Have you heard anything from Thomas?"

"I love that you still call him that," John muttered into his arm. "It actually kind of irritates him that you really don't call him Tommy." Almost as if he could sense my discomfort, he waved a hand at me and I could hear the chuckle in his voice. "Don't feel guilty. Country Fried is a little…spikey sometimes. Especially when it comes to me."

Actually, I knew Thomas to be a very caring and very generous individual, if a little irate at times.

"I got a text from him about thirty minutes ago," Johnny sighed. "Arthur's landed at LaGuardia. I bet I'm gonna get an earful for not being there to greet him. He gets a little pissy when he doesn't have an escort in the States. Says we're a bunch of heathens."

Pushing off the counter, I moved to grab the coffee mugs from the shelf. Almost as a testament to John's near constant presence in my household, his mug sat next to mine. Though I couldn't quite say why, I found it funny that his mug said "I love the Big Apple." Momma had pulled it out from our mug collection, citing that it was perfect for the visiting New Yorker. John had been so utterly proud. My movements were automatic and thoughtless. I poured coffee into each mug and set to stirring in both sugar and creamer into mine. When I turned around, John was staring at me.

Uncertain, I placed the mug in front of him and pulled my brows together. "What?"

"You know how I like my coffee."

"You've been practically living with me for two weeks, John. Of course I do."

"I've had coffee here five times. Each time, you've never been in the room to know how I like it." There was excitement breaking through his tone, though he was trying very hard to hide it. I felt myself perk up a bit as well, despite how tired I was. Seeing him so ecstatic over something so small was really endearing. It made me wonder how often we drank coffee together in the past. "Not just that, Shelly. I take my coffee two ways. Only you would know that. When I'm pretty well rested and chill, I drink coffee with milk and a little sugar. When I'm exhausted and overworked, I drink it straight black." I felt my shoulders shrug. There hadn't been any thought to it, but I felt like I knew that. I did feel like I knew exactly what kind of coffee he liked.

It was strange. Instinctual.

"You like pancakes for breakfast," I commented. He leaned forward, as if waiting for the rest of that statement. I came up short. I couldn't think of what else he could be waiting for. A little disappointed in myself, I glanced down at my cup of coffee, drawing my finger along the Celtic knot design. "Sorry. I—I can't remember anything else."

"No big deal, doll face." His head shook and he ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. It fell in waves onto his forehead. "I like 'em on Saturdays. Or on Sundays for lunch." He leaned against the back of the barstool while I propped myself onto the counter. For a few quiet moments, it seemed like a perfectly normal Thursday morning. "Anyway, Arthur's in the States. He gonna fly down with Alfred this afternoon. They'll be here around three or four. Jane's gonna be there as well. We've gotta give her enough to sate her curiosity or she'll run off on her own to figure everything out."

"Where are we meeting?"

"Tommy's house. Four-thirty."

When Momma came into the kitchen, she pulled me into a tight and comforting hug. She didn't say a word and she really didn't need to. I buried my face into the crook of her shoulder, not really wanting to let go. She was a haven in all of this mess. She had no knowledge of the globe or the mysterious things that were happening concerning it. All she knew was that the museum was one of my sources for stability and that Donny was a good man. She didn't need to know anything more to give me comfort. Her voice was a little strained when she spoke, though I didn't know if it was from withholding tears or from sleep.

"I've got some things packed up from the restaurant to take to Dr. Higgens today. I'll be driving over just before the dinner rush." Good, then she would be preoccupied while I dealt with Johnny and whatever was happening with the magic globe. "How was she last night? I noticed y'all didn't get home until one or two in the morning."

"She's a wreck." Johnny answered when he saw that I couldn't.

I stepped away from my mother and grabbed her coffee mug, pouring some into the cup. She only drank a half cup every morning. Always complained about how it made her jittery if she drank too much of the stuff.

"They're not quite sure how he was killed. There…was no physical trauma. That's what she said." I sat the coffee back into the machine and made a little more noise than I meant to. My hands were unsteady. Seeing Loraine crying so desperately, I could barely breathe. It was all I could do to keep myself from bawling. "They're originally from Houston," John explained. "So they'll be taking him back over there for burial." He glanced to me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction. "I've got a couple friends in the Marines. I'm gonna make a couple calls to see if they can help out with the transport since he's a veteran." He looked to me with a curious glint in his eyes. "Speaking of, isn't Corey in the Marines?"

"Army" I corrected absent-mindedly. I was so used to correcting myself that I gave it little thought. "I'm sure Loraine would appreciate that though."

He shrugged and took a drink of his coffee again.


Four-thirty arrived much faster than I anticipated. The whole day had been a bust. Both Johnny and I decided to stay home for a majority of the day. We were both able to get some more sleep in the living room, curled on opposite ends of the couch. For several hours, we just talked. He told me more and more stories that I couldn't quite remember. There was some vague sense of familiarity about some of the people—a man named George, who lived in Delaware, his sister Susannah from New Jersey.

No matter how many stories I heard from him, I never told of the nightmares I kept having or the memories that would rise to the surface every now and again. They came with growing frequency.

Gunshots, dark places, concrete, runes, and an explosion.

What did those flashes mean though?

Every time I closed my eyes, I would see these things, these images.

The lilt of a clarinet brought me out of my thoughts. My fingers were tapping the armrest unconsciously and my feet were alternating the rhythm. It was a slow beat, a slow song. I knew the song well, knew the lyrics even though I could not remember ever hearing it before. It was Helen Forrest—I could remember seeing her in concert, in a small jazz club in New York City. She performed with Benny Goodman and His Orchestra. It was one of my favorite songs, then. In the past, even if it seemed logically impossible. "More Than You Know."

Johnny's iPod was hooked up to the radio, as we drove across town. I wondered for a while if he had chosen this music to ease my nerves. When he skipped over a couple newer songs and landed on Sidney Bechet (another great jazz artist of the forties), I knew that he was trying to give me something familiar, something to cling onto as we drove toward the uncertain.

When we pulled up in front of Thomas's house, I had to hold back a gasp of surprise. It sat about twenty minutes outside of town, down a gravel road off the main highway. Large pines and hardwoods surrounded the home itself while a couple acres of clear-cut farmland lay behind it. The driveway was lined by carefully shaped bushes and large oak trees. It was certainly a former plantation home. That much was very clear. It was painted white at the front while the rest was a brick structure. And it appeared every bit the stereotypical Southern home. Flowers (large white lilies and knockout pink roses) rested along the path that led to the wide front steps.

It was beautiful.

"You know, he's gonna gloat if he sees you staring like that." Johnny commented off-handedly as he pulled the Challenger to the side. A few other cars sat nearby—Tommy's SUV and a newer model Camaro. On the other side of the Camaro sat a red Jeep with an American flag on the license plate. "Looks like everyone's already here. They're probably gonna rail me for being late. Good thing you're with me to soften the blows."

He turned the car off and shifted to look at me. I looked back at him, trying to ignore how nervous I was.

"Michelle, you're gonna hear a lotta things today. Try not to let any of it frighten you. These guys are just like me, and they want your safety more than anyone in the world. I don't know how Arthur will react, so try to cut him some slack. The globe seems to react differently to different people, so…" He reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Whatever happens, you tell me if you wanna leave. I'll take you home without argument. Okay?"

I nodded, anxious to just get the debacle over with. The way he made it sound, this was going to be a disaster. I slipped out of the car, straightening my skirt as I exited. He raced around to my side, pulling the door open further. "Still opening doors?"

"Just for you. Nowadays, it's not really the thing to do in New York City. Can't judge a whole state by their big cities though. In the more suburban parts of New York, there are plenty of manners still around." He held out an arm and escorted me up the stairs like a gentleman from some nineteenth century reenactment. I left my cane in the car, knowing that there wouldn't be much walking involved in this visit. "Being with you takes me back to another time, Shelly."

"Clever," I complimented.

Just as we reached the crest of the stairs, the front door swung open. Thomas stood there, looking positively frazzled. His curls were frizzed out into a bush atop his head. At the sight of us, he visibly slouched and sighed. "Thank God. I can't handle em any longer. And you're a jackass for comin' up with this idea. Jane and Arthur in the same room? In my house? Screw you, Yankee. If they keep arguing, they'll start throwing things. My things."

"Hi, Thomas." I smiled after his tirade.

He grimaced, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Michelle. Howdy to you, too." He nodded his head just slightly and tipped his ball cap to me. Then his polite greeting disappeared when he turned to face John. "Like I said before: screw you, Johnny. They've already broken one of my cups in one of their arguments!"

"Oh, suck. It. Up, Bubba. We've got bigger issues right now than your tea sets." Johnny snorted, clapping a hand onto the brunette's shoulder.

Thomas gave me a long-suffering frown, motioning for me to come inside. I took a cautious step forward and felt the cool air wash over me. Immediately inside the door was a set of wide stairs that moved to the second floor. A burgundy runner sat atop them. Framed photos lined the wall. The foyer of his home was just as gorgeous as the rest of his house. It was a grand entryway and I could imagine dinner parties being held while women came in their finest antebellum gowns. It was a rush of history that felt absolutely invigorating. Even the smell was intoxicating and had my muscles relaxing despite my nerves. Brown sugar and cinnamon.

"You have a lovely home," I complimented while Johnny gave me a shake of his head. I smiled toward him, studiously ignoring the way his hands waved in front of his face. Thomas practically lit up, the weary lines leaving his young face. His chest puffed like a bird displaying plumage. "Was it a plantation?"

"I built—It was built in 1826 and was a plantation until the start of the Civil War. During that time, it became a field hospital for Confederate soldiers." Tommy closed the door and gestured toward the left. "I've got the entire house fixed up. I can give you a tour sometime. For a while, it was also a part of the Underground Railroad. Anyway, you probably should be warned—Arthur's ill as a hornet and Jane is—"

"Herself?" Johnny questioned.

"Worse. She's—"

"Tired of your shit," a voice commented off-handedly. I spun around to see the woman from the museum standing in the doorway, her hands propped onto her hips. Her thin lips were set into a straight line, sharp eyes looking me up and down. I tried not to cringe behind Johnny, but I couldn't help my knee-jerk reaction. She was intimidating unlike anyone I had ever met. Even Corey's Army buddies couldn't hold a candle to this woman. "Stop playing games, Thomas. It's getting old. Either tell me what you wanted to say or let me go do my job." She gestured to me with her hand and rolled her eyes. "And just what is the good doctor doing here, John?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Johnny retorted, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "You'll find out soon enough so don't get your panties in a wad." I felt my eyes widen at his crude statement and instinctually threw my elbow into his stomach. He let out a puff of air, doubling forward. "Right, right. Sorry, but I'm not apologizing to G.I. Jane over there. She's always been a tight-ass. It'd do her some good to loosen up."

"Did you bring me here just so I could beat him to a pulp?" Agent Randolph questioned sarcastically. She made a show of shrugging her shoulders and seeming nonchalant. I could see that she was seething just below the surface of her professional façade. Her brow was twitching with irritation and her weight was shifting from leg to leg. "Because if I needed a warm up, I would have just gone for a jog." I saw Tommy remove his ball cap and rub his head. He gave me a rueful look, but said nothing. Obviously, he didn't want to get on her bad side by interrupting the argument.

Who would?

Beside me, I felt Johnny tense. "Try it, Greyback (1). We'll see who wins out in the end. Who won out last time, huh?" There was a cruel victorious note in his voice that caught even me off guard. His arm fell from my shoulders and he stared at the woman in the doorway, not willing to back down to her intimidating presence. As he took a couple steps forward, John almost seemed to grow in stature. His comfortable slouch disappeared and he stood taller than her, chin raised. I thought I saw her bravado waver under the intensity of his glare. "This isn't the time or the place for your attitude."

She seemed to reaffirm her confidence and her green eyes narrowed. Just as Jane started forward, her heel clapping against the hardwood floor, another person entered the fray. He stepped up behind her and rested a hand atop her tense shoulder, an easy smile plastered on his face. It was almost as if he were unaware of the tension in the room. One could see it though, if I looked hard enough I could see the strain in his smile.

"Why is it that you're always at each other's throats, huh? Like cats and dogs." Alfred let out an amused laugh, but even I could hear the force in it. He was very much aware of the tension, he was just choosing to ignore it. My brows pulled together. It felt familiar, the way he was behaving. Almost as if I had seen it before. Well, I had, hadn't I? I just couldn't remember. My head shook. "Ease up on each other, okay? The war ended the century before last."

"She still flies that damn flag—"

"I do not! My flag doesn't—"

"Last century," Alfred reiterated with finality. John cowed under the gravity of his voice, his shoulders slouching forward. Agent Randolph lowered her head slightly, muttering something under her breath to the man at her side. He let out a loud laugh, all the tension leaving his face. "I know he's annoying Jane, but that's what makes him, him." I reached out and grabbed Johnny's arm before he could launch himself into another time-consuming tirade.

I really didn't have the nerve for it.

At the action, I earned the attention of Alfred. His voice made me turn back to him. "Michelle." Before I could say anything, he had me in his arms and was embracing me with such devotion and love that I couldn't help but to return the hug. His arms were pressing me to his chest and I could smell smoke and pines. My arms came up to hook around his shoulders with practiced ease. How many times had I embraced him in my forgotten life? Too many times to count, I was certain. "It's good to see you. Really good to see you!" He stepped back, placing both hands on my shoulders. He leaned down just a bit to be at my eye level. There was a moment of contemplation before his lips pursed. "Why've you been crying?"

How could he tell?

Johnny hadn't even seen me cry. I had waited until I was in my bedroom, well past midnight, to truly let go of my emotions. Yet, with one look, Alfred was able to see exactly what I wanted to keep hidden. Not only that, he didn't even ask if I had been crying. He just took for granted that he knew me well enough to be certain of that fact. And the pain that was in his expression, was it simply from my suffering? "I—I haven't," I tried.

His brows rose before his head shook. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile. "You may not know it, Shelly, but I know you way better than that."

I relented, "It was a hard day. Yesterday."

"Yeah," he nodded and pulled me into a half hug into his side. "I heard. I'm sorry. That's part of why we're here today. We're gonna get everything figured out. So don't worry, okay?" Before I could murmur a word of affirmative, he interrupted. "Nevermind. You've chewed me and Johnny out before for telling you not to worry." My gaze lowered to the floor and I felt myself smile just a bit. That sounded like me, though certainly a 'me' that was very irritated. Normally, I didn't 'chew' people out. He must have really pissed me off if that was how I reacted. "I'm not gonna make the same mis—"

"America! What in the world is taking so—" I turned slightly to face the new arrival, my mouth dropping open in shock. It was the strangest feeling. Like déjà vu. I had seen this man before, almost as if in a dream. He stood in the hallway, arms limp at his side as he stared at the assembled group. His mouth was hanging open just slightly, obviously caught off-guard. I recognized him from the picture.

Blond hair, green eyes. Large eyebrows.

My stomach did a flip and suddenly, I felt sick. This was him. Arthur, the one I had asked for on the flight home. Arthur, the one I had seen in those pictures. The one who smelled like tea and old books.

After a moment, the spell broke and he cleared his throat. I averted my eyes, trying not to feel embarrassed for my staring.

"Alfred," he growled. His eyes were alight with anger. "You didn't tell me there would be a guest." I could remember that tone, almost like I could remember the lyrics to that Helen Forrest and Benny Goodman song. As if it were somewhere in my mind, buried beneath mountains of other more important events and memories. He was there though. I could remember his name. Even if I couldn't associate him with any specific memories, I knew him. "I apologize, Miss." The British man stated while straightening his stance. His hands moved to be clasped behind his back and the action almost made him appear regal. His glare turned to Johnny, who was smirking slightly. "Is there a reason you look so smug?"

"Nope," John shook his head.

The response seemed to irritate the foreigner even more. I could practically see his hackles rise. "I arrived into LaGuardia this morning. Do you know who wasn't there to receive me?"

"Ya see?" John reached forward and nudged my shoulder. "I told ya I'd get some words about it."

"I hate that blasted airport! It's ridiculous!" Arthur waved his hands. "Bloody ridiculous, I tell you. I have never seen so many—"

"Try JFK in December and then talk to me. Until then, I don't wanna hear it." I tried to withhold my laughter at Johnny's nonchalant blow-off, but I had a hard time stifling it behind my hand. "Besides, we've got bigger fish to fry right now." He looked toward Thomas, who took the cue to step forward. "Listen to the hick and we'll get this show on the road."

"I swear to God, New York!"

Alfred interrupted before another argument could start. I felt as if I were in the middle of a powder keg. Between Thomas and John and Jane, there was enough nitroglycerin to blow up all of Nashville. Add in Arthur, who was quietly steaming by the stairs, and it felt like we would never progress past arguments. How in the world could these people stand each other when they so obviously loved fighting? My eyes slipped over toward where Alfred was dragging a hand through his hair. His cowlick returned to where it once had been. "Dudes! And dudettes!" Jane rolled her eyes while I just smiled. "We don't have time for this, yo. In case you forgot, the shit hit the fan yesterday."

The reality hit me like a freight train. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I had forgotten. For however short a time, I had forgotten. How could I forget that Donny was—A secondary wave of anxiety hit me. I had forgotten that Donny was dead. My breathing hitched uncomfortably, as I blindly reached out to take hold of someone, anyone who could keep me balanced.

Of course there were always moments when my amnesia would make me forget things, sometimes everything for a short period of time. Generally, that was whenever I was tired. I had forgotten the robbery, the night spent at Loraine's house, and the death of her husband. Taking a deep breath, I tried to work through the panic.

It was understandable. I was still exhausted from the lack of sleep, no matter how long of a nap I had taken. My memory just wasn't reliable anymore. It was more what I forgot, rather than the fact that I had forgotten it.

"Shelly?" Alfred cradled my arm and held me up as I leaned into him. I was slowly coming back to my senses, vision still unfocused. I was very much aware of how closely I was being watched. "What's up, Michelle?"

"I forgot," I murmured. I allowed Alfred to steer me into the nearby sitting room, easing me onto the antique sofa. In an instant, Johnny was at my other side. He started rubbing circles on my back, trying to soothe me. The action only made me more anxious. I pulled away from him and I heard Alfred mutter something under his breath. At that, John withdrew entirely and stepped away. I didn't mean to hurt him. "I'm—"

"Don't apologize," Johnny replied immediately. "I didn't realize that you hate having your back rubbed like that."

So that must've been what Alfred told him. I nodded my head and tried to regulate my breathing.

Panic attacks like that were rare, but normal for my condition. It was a symptom of the amnesia, moments of transient memory loss. The degree of it varied. I could forget everything for a few moments or one thing for up to an hour or longer. More often than not, those bouts would lead to panic attacks. The last one of that magnitude happened while I was at the museum one day. I had forgotten how to get back to my office. It was Donny that found me in the south corridor and led me back to familiar territory. He comforted me, told me that I would remember the directions soon enough. Said he had brothers in arms that had memory issues that were spawned from their PTSD in the Korean War. Sure enough, I remembered the entire layout of the museum the next day.

"Care to explain what that was?" My head rose from where I was holding it in my hands. Arthur stood on the other side of the opposite sofa, his arms crossed. There was some concern there, but it was largely overridden by irritation. His eyes were narrowed critically in my direction. I couldn't look at him any longer and I instead searched for someone to explain my predicament. "It looked like a bout of mania."

"She's got amnesia." Thomas explained, settling himself into a seat. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Pretty serious global amnesia, actually. It's not debilitating, but it does affect her day-to-day life. At times, she forgets things. And, after she was found on a street in Germany, she couldn't remember the previous two years. " He glanced to Alfred and made a gesture that seemed to say 'go on.'

Alfred looked at me for a moment before sighing. He patted my arm and grimaced. "Say, Arthur, do you remember a woman…Michelle Daniels? From about seventy years ago?"

Arthur's thick brows rose and he looked a little nonplussed by the strange question. His eyes flickered to me, obviously trying to figure out if I was in on the secret of whatever they were. Just to clarify that I wasn't yet privy to that information, I shook my head and shrugged. Still I was anxious to hear his answer. "I—I do not believe so. Why do you ask?" Though he had just sat a few moments before, Thomas stood and walked out of the room. I felt my heart begin to beat faster and faster. I knew what was coming.

The globe.

"What's this all about?" Agent Randolph spoke up. She stepped forward into the circle that had been formed. Her sharp eyes turned to me and she nodded her head in my direction. I refocused onto her, trying not to back down in her presence. "She's Michelle Daniels. She's twenty-seven. Seventy years ago, she wouldn't have even been born. Obviously, Arthur hasn't met her. What the hell kind of shenanigans are you fools tryin' to pull?" I noticed a small Southern accent come out in her voice as she grew more aggravated.

Arthur looked to me, eyeing my facial features critically before shaking his head. "I've never met her before in my life."

"You have." Alfred stated evenly. "You just don't remember."

A heavy silence fell over the room before Thomas stepped inside, the gemstone globe held in his right hand. "It'd be a lot easier if you didn't ask questions. Just touch the globe. You'll understand afterward." He moved to stand between the sofas, placing the object on the coffee table. His eyes caught mine and he gave the most comforting smile he seemed to be able to muster. Beside me, Alfred gestured for Arthur to step forward. Arthur eyed him critically before shaking his head.

"No, I think you should explain first. Why is this woman here and why did you drag me all the way across the pond for this little dinner party?" His arms crossed over his chest and I felt my vision become unfocused momentarily. He did that a lot, back then. It was a mannerism of his, crossing his arms, whenever he felt defensive or passionate about his opinion. I pulled my brows together, watching the skepticism on his face. "Unless this is some kind of emergency, you wouldn't call me out of a Union meeting, so what is the problem?"

Seeming to feed off of Arthur's reluctance, Jane shook her head and stepped back. "I'm not touching it. There's no telling what you guys—"

"I can make it an order, Virginia." Alfred stated easily as he lowered himself into the sofa next to me. I could feel the nervous energy flowing off of him. His head shook solemnly. There was something darker in his eyes and I wondered if I had ever known what it meant to be 'ordered' to do something. It certainly had more gravity than mere words or power with these people. "Please don't make me order you. You know I hate it."

She stiffened, eyes alight with something fierce. For a woman I had expected to thrive on orders, she seemed to find the very idea arborous. Maybe she wasn't quite as by-the-book as I thought. "You can't—"

"I can and I will," the man next to me nodded gravely. "Just because I haven't used that ability in a while doesn't mean that I don't still have it. I'll order you to touch that globe if I have to, Jane. Don't force my hand." He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A hand came to rest on my shoulder and jumped in surprise, turning to see John towering over me from behind the sofa. He smiled down, trying to give me strength. Even so, I could feel his hand shaking just slightly. "This situation is way more complicated than you can hope to understand." Woah, that was quite a jab at her intelligence. The corners of her lips turned downward. John's hand tightened on my shoulder.

In one swift movement, she was sitting on the opposite couch and her fingers were falling over the top of the globe. Her eyes widened and her body went still, as if she had been frozen. After a few moments, her mouth opened just slightly and she turned to face me. There was obvious confusion in her expression, along with something else—something I didn't quite expect. Respect. I saw that sentiment shoved aside a moment later, when she flew to her feet. "What the hell was that?"

John leaned over to Thomas and smirked, holding out his free hand. "I told ya, buddy. Pay up." Muttering something under his breath, Tommy reached into his jean pocket and withdrew a five, slapping it into Johnny's hand. "Thank you!"

"That's not possible!"

"Not probable," Alfred agreed with a huge smile. "It's totally true. It's her. Imagine mine and Johnny's reactions when we found out. It's a crazy feeling, right? Like you were in two places at once. Your mind kind of splits off. It's crazy that she could be here, considering what happened. That's why Arthur's here. As much as I don't wanna admit it, he's pretty freakin' well-informed on crazy shit like this. Right, Iggy?"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur shouted. His eyes immediately turned to me and he bowed his head politely as if to apologize for his volume. He was quite the gentleman, I realized. Something felt off about that thought though. I couldn't say what, but it felt slightly wrong. "I'm sorry, Miss. It's just that…idiot. Often sets out to make me look the fool. Like trying to get me to touch that relic." I smiled, feeling a little tension ebbing away at the look of utter cynicism on his face. He didn't believe jack of what Alfred, Johnny, and Tommy were telling him. Not one bit. "I think you're all mad. To put it in words you might understand: what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Touch the globe and find out." John challenged. "I thought you were an explorer or a pirate or a soldier or a King or a man. If you're any of those, touch the damn globe and get it over with."

Arthur visibly stiffened, eyes narrowing dangerously. "How dare you!"

Before things could get out of hand, I decided it was time I spoke up. It was clear that he wouldn't listen to anyone else. Maybe there was a chance he would listen to me. "I know it sounds strange. And I know that these three aren't particularly trustworthy or convincing." All three men around me squawked in protest, but I dutifully ignored them. "Agent Randolph, did the globe cause you any harm?" She turned to from where she had been lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, her head shook. "It won't harm you. If it works the same with you as with everyone else here, it will give you a few memories."

He watched me carefully, looking for any trace of falsehood in my eyes. I honestly hoped that he would agree. I wanted this whole affair over with sooner rather than later and if he kept dragging it out, I wasn't sure that my heart could handle it. After a moment, he huffed and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "Fine." Arthur's attention shifted to Alfred as he trudged forward to sit on the opposite sofa. "I'll hold you personally responsible, I hope you know." Alfred just grinned, folding his arms behind his head as he sat back. "All of you."

"Point taken, Arthur." Thomas agreed.

The British man reached forward then and slowly lowered his right hand to rest upon the globe. The effect was immediate. As soon as his skin made contact with the mother of pearl and lapis, he went inhumanly still. I felt my breath catch. This was all too unbelievable. A magic globe that gives people memories? That magic globe being connected to my disappearance and amnesia. It was all so insane. And maybe that was it. What if none of this was real? What if the blast had done more damage than just amnesia? What if I was really in a coma, still trapped in that German hospital? His left hand began to shake as he stared straight ahead, straight toward me. I couldn't look away, couldn't blink. There was such a violent flurry of emotions on his face and, even though I knew he couldn't see me, I felt tears fill my eyes. Sadness, fear, anger. All of them in those bright green eyes, all of them striking me in the gut with every flinch.

Was it okay to do this?

He was reliving whatever horror had happened in that "alternate timeline."

I wasn't worth that kind of suffering.

Was it better to unaware of how things had once been?

He gasped in a breath and released the globe as if he had been burned, eyes impossibly wide. He blinked once, then twice, but that expression of fearful surprise never faded. There was a moment of speculative silence, each of us waiting for something—for absolution. Why absolution though? Why was forgiveness the one thing that I could think of that moment? Probably because I could see how upset he truly was. I wanted to apologize for the agony in his expression. After a few seconds of silence, Arthur's brows pulled together and he shakily rose to his feet. His eyes never left mine and something told me to mirror his movements.

I rose to my feet, heart thundering in my chest. Carefully, I moved around the coffee table and stopped. My hands were quivering, chest almost feeling numb with nervous energy. I wasn't willing to move any closer to him. It was possible that he didn't remember anything of the—

"You don't recall any of it…do you?" His voice was thick, emotional. His eyes were focused, not on my face, but on my leg. The grimness of his question made heat well behind my eyes and nose. I could tell just from the way he was speaking: he wished that this was all just some joke. He had known me back then, that much was clear. That much was obvious in the way he was holding himself together, as if he would break with one errant word. When I didn't answer, his hand reached out to rest on the curve of my neck and shoulder. His eyes lifted to my face, my eyes. I didn't withdraw or look away. I couldn't. I was caught in his gravity. The warmth of his hand on my skin was comforting, but it felt distant. "You can't remember," he breathed.

My head shook, but I didn't trust myself to speak.

His gaze lowered from my face again. He never moved to embrace me, not like Alfred and John had done upon first seeing me. Instead, he maintained his distance. His hand slipped from my neck and he stood there, quietly thinking. I couldn't imagine the maelstrom that was thundering in his mind. I could only feel my own fear.

"Yo! You gonna stand there forever or—"

"It was Norway," he growled.

Everyone went silent as Arthur lifted his head. I felt confusion overtake me. Norway? What did he mean by that? It seemed impossible for a whole country to do something like this. Still, something about his declaration felt right, as if I had known it all along. Alfred seemed to clue in on my confusion first and he was on his feet in an instant, arm snaking around my still shaking body. "Uh, dude—We haven't told her about all tha—"

"It was Norway, damn it! He did this! He did this to her!" Arthur threw his arm toward me in a wild gesture. "I remember it. Just when she agreed to the deal, Norway was casting a spell. He had this globe in his hands. It was blood magic. I was knocked off my feet by the blast, but I could hear his words!" He paced backward before turning his back on the group. "What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? That kind of magic is forbidden for a reason!" He was practically seething, spinning on his heel to face us again. "I'll beat the bloody piss out of him, I swear it. How could he do this? After everything she suffered! After you—" His hands fisted at his sides and he lowered his head against, hiding his face from view.

"Norway?" I felt myself question, though the word felt distant.

Alfred turned me toward him. "There's a lot that you've forgotten, Shelly." That much was obvious, but I didn't have the heart to say so. I just stared at him and nodded my head, still distracted by the distance that Britain was putting between us. Alfred followed my line of sight and sighed, watching as the blond took a deep breath and strode from the room. Alfred sighed a second time, shaking his head. "Give 'im time, Shells. He'll come around. It's a little disorienting. For him, we were trapped, about to lose the war, he was injured, and we just watched you die."

"Got to hand it to him. He didn't lose it. When we first touched the globe, both me and Al cried."

In the silence that came over the living room, a sound could be heard from outside the house. It was a guttural and heart-wrenching yell. I felt my knees weaken and I stumbled back to sit on the sofa, my tear-blurred eyes focusing on the globe. What was it that I was forgetting? What would make a composed man lose control like that? There was so much I didn't know, so much that was locked within that sphere.

I felt my hand moving before I even realized the consequences of my actions. I had to know. I had to understand. I couldn't live in the darkness any longer, without knowledge. I needed to know. I needed to know. No matter what the risk, I had to understand. I wanted to remember these people. I wanted to know why a life had been taken in the pursuit of it.

What were they talking about when they mentioned Norway and why did it feel so right? Why was Arthur so pained? Why did Alfred understand him so much? Why? How?

I needed to know.

My hand fell upon the globe just as John caught sight of my movement. Everything seemed to shift into slow motion. His green eyes—eyes so similar to Arthur's— widened as he realized what I was about to do. By the time he had moved to intercept, the world went dark. I could only hear his desperate call and another distant mournful yell. There was a jittery feeling just behind my heart.

"Michelle!"