Chapter Eight
Past Forgotten
Flathead National Forest
Hanna Tailor
You are your memories. They shape you, guide you, and mould you.
Your memories tell you when to run, and when to hide.
But when something happens, something that will tear you apart, you have to ask yourself... Is that me? And when it's over, will it change you?
We are our memories.
So think back and ask... Who am I?
'I guess we're both broken, in our own way,' I whispered into his shirt.
Wrapping his arm around me, he kissed my head, and held me close.
'I was broken,' he said, and as I pull him in, holding back tears, 'but then you fixed me.'
We lay on the sofa, the blanket wrapped around me, and his arms surrounded me. I told him about my fear, and how I had decided to search out the nightmare, which ended up being him. Andrew held me, smiling, listening, while he stroked my hair. I told him about Jerry, and he seemed surprised.
'You talked to the dead?' He asked. 'It's rare that they speak to the living, or so I'm told.'
I explained how the ghost had given me the courage to come to the cabin, face my grief, and confront my nightmares.
'It seems like I have a lot to thank old Jerry for.' He whispered.
I smiled, pulling him closer and stared into the glowing embers of the fire. We stayed like that for a long time, safe in each other's arms. I never wanted to leave, or move, or even breathe, so that the precious moments would never end. But the inevitable happened, and my stomach grumbled.
A faint rush of air, and I fell onto a pillow, and he was gone. I started to complain, until I smelt the faint scent of bacon, from the kitchen.
I gave up, and pulled the duvet over my head.
When did he put this on me? I thought, angry at myself for being so unobservant.
I heard the bacon strips hit the frying pan, and start to sizzle. Licking my lips, I peeked over the sofa's arm, into the kitchen, where he cooked.
Dicing up some fresh cabbage, his arms moved in a blur. Throwing the vegetables onto a hot slice of granary bread, he took out a bottle, and poured some of the contents over the salad. As the bacon finished, he laid the slices over the sauce, and put another slice of bread over that. Then he was there, right in front of me, like he had just appeared before me, sandwich in hand.
I have to remember he isn't human, I remind myself.
But I leant to touch his face anyway. He took my hand, and brushed my fingertips, across his cheek.
'You must eat,' he told me, 'or you will die.'
I could see concern in his eyes, and so I laughed.
'I'm not that hungry yet.'
I take the sandwich anyway, and take a bite. The flavour is like nothing I had ever tasted before, it was so sharp, yet so sour, that it balanced out, and gave the sandwich a powerful flavour.
'What's in that sauce?' I gasp, taken aback.
He shrugs, as if the flavour isn't that good.
'It was the best I could find,' he says. 'I thought a little bit of werewolf would taste nice.'
Werewolf? I thought.
Looking down at the sandwich, I took a deep breath, and choked. A strong smell of blood radiated from the meal, barely hidden by the smell of bacon.
I retch, and hand the sandwich back. But he is holding my face, looking into my eyes and frantic, extreme worry on his face.
'What is it?' He whines. 'Can't humans have werewolf blood?'
Despite cringing from what I had eaten, I couldn't help but laugh.
'I'm sure we can,' I say, 'but it isn't exactly first choice on the menu.'
He calms down.
'So you're not going to die?' He asks.
I smile, and place my hand on his cheek.
'I'll be okay.' I sigh, looking deep into his eyes.
BUZZZZZZ!
My phone distracts me, but I ignore it, not wanting to look away.
BUZZZZZZ!
It goes again, and he sighs.
BUZZZZZZ!
'That is probably Tom,' he says, 'You should pick it up.'
I sigh, and reach into my backpack, taking out my cell.
Incoming call: TOM
'Yeah, it's Tom,' I say, and hit answer. 'Hey, Tom, don't worry I'm okay.'
'Good to hear,' a voice replies. But it isn't Tom.
'Tell lover boy to come and save your foster father.' The menacing voice continues, 'tell him I'll be waiting.'
The man put the phone down, and I look up into Andrews eyes. Anger, fear, and worry, shows plainly on his face.
Grigore, I think, as I start to hyperventilate, Tom.
Andrew holds me in his arms, and kisses me on my forehead.
'I'll make this right,' he whispers. 'I'll end this for good.'
Then he was gone, and I was left alone in the forest, with the fear of loss threatening to tear me apart. I stumbled out into the cold night air, leaving my blanket behind.
I have to find him, but I don't know why.
I have to warn him, but I don't know where to find him.
I have to tell him, but I don't know what to say.
As I broke through the trees, onto the familiar wild flower path, and pulled myself together, and carryed on down the path. After a while of cutting myself to ribbons against the branches, I neared the end of the feral path. I was about to leave the tree line, when to my right, deep in the forest, I heard a scream.
I recognised the voice, Andrew!
I fell to my knees.
Andrew Wheeler
He wouldn't get away with it, I thought as I left the cabin behind. Killing Hanna's father was enough for him to deserve death, but kidnapping her foster father too?
Unspeakable rage filled my heart, but I surveyed the cabins surroundings, to make sure that Grigore wasn't hiding, as he waited for me to leave.
I was about to go off to Tom's house, when I noticed a smell. It was faint, and came from a mile west. Werewolf!
I chased after the beast, but the trail became denser, and I was forced into the canopy, which allowed me to gain on the wolf.
I had brought my daggers this time, and would use them to rip Grigore limb from limb.
The beast, started to slow down, and looked back, eyes searching the forest floor, trying to find me, so I positioned myself right above the werewolf, and dropped down. But the wolf jumped out of the way, just in time, for me to hit the ground, and trigger the trap.
Cables of thick steal ripped their way from the floor, bursting through the foliage, capturing me in a net. I grunted, as I heard more wolves appear from the forest.
I can't die like this! I shout in my head, I have to save her!
As I struggled, a figure approached from behind me, and I felt Grigore's smile behind my back.
'You won't get away with this!' I shout, 'I'll kill you!'
Grigore, walked around the net, so that I could see him.
'Why?' He asked.
'What do you mean why?' I shouted back.
'Why do you want to kill me?' he asked, 'wasn't it you who attacked me first?'
I paused for a second, but then Hanna's face appeared in my head.
'To save her from you,' I snarl.
He sighs, and lays down, looking up at the sky.
'I thought it would be that,' he murmurs, 'After all, she has a startling resemblance.'
What is he talking about? I thought to myself, sure that he was trying to trick me.
'Wait,' he said, and looked quickly to me. 'Don't tell me you still don't remember!'
Shock resonated through my body. How does he know?
I had been hunting Grigore for months before that night ten years ago. After I had found a picture of him in my wallet- with a credit card, and a cell phone- I didn't know who he was, all I knew, was that I was a vampire, I was called Andrew Wheeler, and I had to find, and kill the man in the photograph, I hoped that killing him would help me regain, my memories, but after Hanna, I didn't care about my past any longer, and the man (Grigore) could run free for all I cared.
'Ha-ha,' he laughed, 'so you still have amnesia then?'
I felt my strength sap away, as he leaned closer.
'And you still don't remember Andrea?' he asked.
A memory, of an old woman, a doppelganger for what Hanna would look like in her old age.
'Andrea,' a voice called, out, and she looked to me, a smile on her face.
'Oh you're back!'
The memory took me by surprise, and left me breathless. My wife...
Grigore licked his lips.
'Oh brother,' he smiled, 'little brother Andrei, you have no idea, she was the one for me.'
I remember a flicker of a memory, Andrea dead in my arms, Grigore's blade coming down on me.
He killed her! My wife, Andrea, that's why I lost my memory. My body started to seize up, and I looked back into his eyes.
'Poor little brother.'
Grigore is my sibling!
'Now I'll have to go deal with this freak of nature, before you regain your memory.' Grigore sighed, taking out his blade, before turning back towards the cabin, and disappearing into the trees.
My brother killed my wife. I think to myself, and as I realised that he was going to kill Hanna too, just for looking like Andrea, I felt terror flood through me, and I screamed.
