A new chapter for you. Hopefully the temporary change of character name isn't too confusing. It's Brenda! Enjoy!
Chapter 2
It isn't grocery day. The only day he lets her out but she is leaving. She is getting out of this house once and for all. Because enough was enough.
Isabel waited until nine, pretending to sleep as Vince gave her one last kiss. His meaty fingers brushing disheveled hair from her face while he whispered I love you. Sure he did. He always loved her until he didn't. Until she found herself with Vince's hand wrapped around her throat.
But now Vince is at work. He won't be back until evening. Freedom is a knock in the night and Isabel's flinging open that door, ready to run into the arms of the other side. She kicks off her covers and breaks for the closet. Her nerves are shot, legs feel like jelly she can hardly walk. But she does. She has to.
Hovering in the closet doorway, Isabel unearths a grungy green messenger bag hidden deep between two thick quilts. Her makeshift to go bag, packed days ago in preparation for her escape. Two plans on her mind. She doesn't know which direction she'll take, both scare her. But she's been living scared. Probably for most of her life. She thinks?
Things didn't always use to be like this, she thinks, but she doesn't know why.
She turns and looks around the tiny, lonely cabin where she's been laid up for the last nine months. Antlers on the wall. A blurry wedding photo of her and Vince, that doesn't even show her face clearly. A kitchenette with one flickering fluorescent.
As Isabel's eyes brush against the bed, her entire body lets a loose angry shudder. She hates that bed. She wants to burn it to the ground, light it on fire and dance on its flames. She spent so much time there after her accident that left her without her memories. When she woke, she knew nothing. She still knows nothing. Except her name was Isabel Williams, and she was injured in a brutal mugging.
At first, her husband was loving. Kind. For the first three months of her recuperation, she was so sick and Vince was perfect. But overprotective. He never let her lift a finger. He also never let her out of the house. Except for grocery day and Vince always went with her. You were mugged, he would say. How can I let you go? How can I lose you again?
She accepted this because she was still healing from her accident, but when she was finally better, when her mind became stronger, she thought it was strange she had no friends, no family, no job.
All she had was what Vince told her about her life, bad migraines and broken memories that only came to her in dreams or flashbacks that didn't make a lick of sense. Late at night, her dreams resemble a Rorschach test. A man with brown intense eyes, horses, an audience applauding, a song, poems? She doesn't understand any of it. Nothing looks familiar, nothing feels right. The first time she saw Vince, she felt nothing. Is that normal to not feel anything for your husband? She guessed it was for her because she always felt nothing.
It won't always be like this, Vince said, explaining away her questions. Your ID was stolen. We had friends but they moved. Your parents died in a car crash. You're an only child, even though in her gut something told her she wasn't. You just need time to get healthy.
She almost laughs.
Oh, she's healthy alright. She finally feels healthy enough not to listen anymore.
Last week, Isabel tried to leave. She walked out of the house onto the porch and Vince just snapped.
He took her by the throat, dragged her back into the house, and shoved her against the wall, pulling her up until her feet left the floor. A whisper into her ear, the minute you leave me, I will break your fucking neck, sweet Isabel, then he strangled her until she passed out.
It wasn't the first time it happened, but it was definitely the worst. It was Isabel's lightbulb.
She had to get out.
Breaking from her daydream daze, Isabel snaps into action.
She doesn't need much. Her wallet's already in her bag, a small stash of money pinched from her grocery fund. Stashed away where Vince would never find it. Isabel moves quick, frantic. Her fingers fumble with her meager belongings: medication, coins for her bus fare, a small paperback. Her heart threatens to beat itself out of her chest. She can't help but take glances at the door, worried that any minute her beast of a husband might come in and catch her.
To calm herself, she begins to sing, "The sound of angels when I hear your voice. I surrender, I don't have a choice. The fire that burns between you and me is everything I'll ever need"
That song. She doesn't know where it came from or what it means, only that it's her savior, that it's been on her mind ever since she woke up. A rhythmic mantra keeping her going in her moments of panic. Self-soothing, she supposes. Like a worry stone, only it's a worry song. Her touchstone when she's ready to fall apart.
Finished packing, she glances up. When she meets her ashen face in the mirror, when she sees the finger-sized bruises painting her throat, her cheekbone, she swears.
Haunted. She looks haunted.
Goddamn if she's going to be kept in this house like some dog on a leash. Actually dogs are probably treated better. Fury rolls through her body, and she takes a breath to compose herself.
Prisoner.
It's a strange thought. One that scares her and fills her with strength at the same time. A final admission of what these last nine months have been.
Monstrous.
It applies to her husband as well.
Love isn't this. Whatever this is.
In the mirror she gives herself a grin thats braver than she feels. She slings the bag across her trembling body and heads for the door. She feels dizzy, she feels her migraine coming to the forefront. No no not now. It's depilating and she'll never get out of here. She shakes her head, puts her hand on the door knob and twists.
Free
At least she hopes so.
Three hours later she is in Pensacola. She's gone to the water. She read about Opal Beach in travel magazine Vince had brought home. One of the most beautiful beaches in the world, the article proclaimed. And Isabel wants to see it for herself. As she exits the bus, she stops and stares at the turquoise ocean. She inhales the smell of the sea and salt. Tilts her face up toward the sun loving the pulse of warmth on her skin.
She's fascinated by the water, though she's mystified why. Only the deep tug in her soul tells her it means something. The way water goes on forever without end, symbolic. Somewhere, deep in her mind, she remembers walking on water, a bridge of sorts, no a pier. It's so fuzzy. She isn't alone, but the person has no face. Baudelaire and Rimbaud. You know they were bums too. I just snuck off to find Balzac's house. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She doesn't know what any of this means. At that moment a chill runs down her body. The thin cotton slip dress she wears is damp with ocean air. Suddenly self conscious, she cocoons her cardigan around her body, hoping it covers the bruises on her throat. She makes her way up to the street to a diner perched on the cliff overlooking the ocean. It's bright beacon of a neon sign blinks EAT EAT EAT. Her stomach then rumbles.
Isabel smiles. She'll do just that.
As she climbs the stairs, she gives a longing look at the water. Just to touch a toe in would be heaven, but hunger wins out. She hasn't had a decent meal in ages.
The diner's door chimes announce her arrival.
Inside, the diner's near empty except for two men and a woman in a leather booth. Isabel's mouth salivates as she passes a rotating stand of pies. Coconut cream, apple, pecan and peach. Her eyes zero in on the peach pie.
Holy shit, how long has it been since she's had a home-cooked meal?
"Afternoon hon," an elderly waitress calls out of the sizzling grill. She slaps a handful of menus against her meaty thigh. "Go ahead and seat yourself."
Isabel smiles. "Thanks."
A sigh of grateful content fills her throat. How wonderful to interact with people. Never once worrying about what Vince would want her to say or do. Never once shivering at the feel of Vince's hand lingering on the curve of her shoulder, his fat fingers ready to dig in deep if she so much as slipped up.
Scooting into a booth behind the only customers, Isabel allows herself a moment to relax. From her vantage point, she can see the ocean through the window. A smile quirks her face, and she reaches for her bag, ready to take inventory of her freedom. Digging around, she tenderly cups each item. When she gets to her wallet, a silver zippered pouch, she pauses. The weight in her palm light.
Too light.
As she opens her wallet, Isabel has to stop herself from screaming. Slowly, so slowly, her trembling hand comes up to her mouth.
The money she saved so hard for…gone.
In its place, a note. I will always find you.
She crumbles it in her hand.
Despair jolts through her, causing her insides to spasm and lurch. She wants to puke. Vomit all over this table because she knows he knows. How? Tears burn her eyes. She must not have been as sneaky as she thought she was. Idiot, she tells herself. You're an idiot.
What now? Go home? Never. She'll never give Vince the satisfaction. She'd rather die.
She'd die.
Her spirit broken, Isabel buries her face in her tumbling hands. She has nothing. She's alone with no money, no ID, no friends, no one to turn to. All thats waiting for her at home is her husband. Vince and his stupid face, Vince and his fists.
If she went home…
He'd kill her.
She came here with two plans. Plan A is fucked. So fucked.
But plan B. Well, thats not a wash. That is something she still has the power over. Isabel's glazed eyes move to the raging sea outside. As she stares at the ocean, a sudden calm overcomes her.
There is nothing about death that's brave. But there is something brave about trying to get out of something that isn't working. Isabel's already a dead woman. She might as well make it permanent.
"What can I get you?"
The waitress words make her jump. Isabel's heart pumps like a small, timid beast inside her chest.
A goddamn miracle, she wants to say.
Realizing the waitress is waiting for a reply, "Oh uh…just a coffee please." She finds a few coins left over from her bus fare and lays them on the table. She looks up at the waitress, "Do I have enough for that?" She winces at the desperation in her voice. But it's the last thing she has left.
The waitress's wise eyes flash with sympathy. "Of course, honey." She shares a warm smile, then scribbles on her green notepad and moves to the next booth. Isabel bows her head and needles the hollow of her throbbing temple, knowing that the only person in the world she can trust is herself.
There are two things Erica McKay wants most as she sits in the neon lit diner.
The first is a hot meal and to be an hour away from the asshole antics of Jeff Stein. She can't believe that David and her band are helping out the guy who grabbed her ass and had made more sexual innuendos in the last 24 hours than she's gotten in her whole life. Apparently Steve thinks this guy can take Dylan's place, but no one likes him…not even Steve himself. They should be playing their own shows. They should be playing their own shows with Dylan on the side line, writing beautiful songs like they used to. But her brother has made it crystal clear he's done. Erica only wishes Dylan would clean himself up and get back on the road. It wasn't just her band it was also that Dylan used to tour with Brenda. She hated that he sat alone drinking himself into a stupor in that big farmhouse. She also knows that losing the love of your life has wrecked Dylan.
The second thing she wants is to get the fuck out of Florida. It's hot, the mosquitoes are vicious, and the memories of failed search and rescue painful. With two more gigs left she is stuck here.
"I absolutely hate that guy. I'm not singing." Erica suddenly announces. Steve opens his mouth, "No I don't care what you say. If Jeff pulls that shit again, I'm leaving. Hashtag me to bitches I will literally punch him in the throat."
A low chuckle.
Erica's eyes slides to David, "If he does that again, Steve and I will punch him for you." He says back protectively.
"Erica you're like a sister to us, he won't do that again. I already had words with his manager, trust me." Steve says from beside her. Erica relaxes. David and Steve have been like brothers to Dylan and to her. She never thought two guys would be closer to her brother than Brandon once was but both stepped in and took his place. Erica could not be more thankful for their help. Especially because both true Beverly Hills boys had left the comforts of amazing weather and girls in bikinis to help her in Tennessee.
"I talked to Dylan this morning." David says after a sip of coffee.
"How is he?" Erica asks worried.
"In a mood."
Steve snorts, "When is he not?"
"So listen, I wanted to talk to you about it before I talk to Dylan"…David leans both arms on the table. "Valerie and I were thinking of asking Dylan to move in with us."
The news makes Erica frown in distaste. Dylan living with David and Val? Erica knows David just wants to help and so does Valerie for that matter but there was no way Dylan would go for it. He wouldn't leave that farmhouse. Also it's like admitting that Dylan is damaged beyond repair and will never pull himself together.
"He'll hate that." Steve chimes in.
Erica nods, "He'll never do it either. I know my brother."
David eyes them with a levelheaded seriousness. "He has to move forward, guys, he isn't doing that cooped up in that house." His vice turns low and soft. "There's too much of her there, and you both know it."
Erica sighs sadly. Steve bristles at the truth of David's words, wondering how in the hell they all got here.
Looking after Dylan was more of a Walsh job, not Steve's or Davids. It had become more common when he returned from London. They had all gotten closer but Dylan had pulled himself together himself. Another ramification of a Brenda break up. But this wasn't a break up. Brenda wasn't coming back.
For years Steve was the trouble maker. Picking up girls, doing stupid stuff without thinking, now he was picking up after his brother. And Dylan and David were truly his brothers. When Janet left him and moved half way across the country with Maddie. Dylan and Brenda had been there for him. Dylan never paused when it came to having his back. Ready to defend or put a swift boot up his ass. He knew he needed something different, moving away from LA had been something he never thought he'd do. Steve was a city boy. A California boy but Tennessee was close to Georgia and that's were Janet was settled and remarried. He see's his daughter every other weekend and for a full month during summer, which they usually spent in LA close to his mom and dad. But these people had showed that blood isn't always thicker than water. They were his family and he'd follow them anywhere. Steve just never thought it would be this hard to watch Dylan sink more than he had ever seen him, and that was bad.
Dylan has been broken over and over in the last year…hell for most of his life. So many tragedies. How much trauma can one man take? Steve doesn't know, David doesn't know and surely Erica doesn't. None of them want to find out. They just want Dylan back.
David lets out a long breath, sits back in the booth. "Dylan hasn't been right since she died."
Annoyed, Erica throws her fork down with a clatter. She feels Steve's comforting hands high on her back. "You piss me off when you use that word, David."
David, his mouth a grim line, closing his menu. He leans in, his voice taking a no bullshit tone. "It'll be their anniversary in a month. It'll be a year since she's been gone in three. How's he going to cope then, huh? What'll he do then?"
Erica opens her mouth to tell David his brother doesn't need a keeper, but then she thinks back to four months ago and swallows hard. Swallows down the rock in her throat. The sight of the waitress at there table cuts off any further conversation between them.
"What'll it be?" She cocks her hip, prepping her pen.
As David rambles off his order and Erica quickly browses the menu, Steve's eyes rove the diner. The place is empty even for lunch time. The lone customer, a petite brunette, sits in the booth behind David. Her head bowed, her face hidden by long curtain of disheveled hair. She looks like she's in pain, but Steve isn't sure. Then the woman looks up, glancing out the window to stare at the ocean, and Steve's heart stops.
Brenda
Her name tears into his jugular, a shot of adrenaline to his bloodstream. Steve turns to the waitress, who's waiting to take his order.
'Who's that?" He blurts out.
The waitress frowns, "Who?"
"Her."
The waitress follows Steve's eyeliner. David moves his body to glance briefly over his shoulder. He feels Erica rise a little, her being short to look at the table behind them, but the woman has her head down again.
"Never seen her before. Ain't a local, thats for sure." The waitress sighs and sets a hand over her heart. She leans in, "Poor girl. Think she's a bit hard up. Looks about half-starved."
"Give her whatever she wants," Steve says quickly. He's itching to feed her. To keep her here as long as possible. "It's on us…Anything."
The waitress's eyes sparkle, she reaches and squeezes his arm, "You sweet thing."
David and Erica are grinning. "What? You got a crush?" Getting no reply, he kicks Steve under the table. "Dude…you are staring."
Erica shakes her head amused, "This is not the time to chase skirt Steve."
"It's her man."
"Who?" Erica leans up a little again.
"It's Bren," he rasps out. Emotion clings his throat.
"What?" Erica goes to get up, too loud for the restaurant. Steve's hand comes out on her arm stopping the scene that Erica could bring.
"What the fuck, Steve?" She whispers harshly.
Before David can harp on him to, he grabs both their hands, Steve leans in, "Look. Take a goddamn look at her." He lets go of David's hand but squeezes Erica's, "Be cool…calm, David first."
Erica takes a deep breath, squeezes his hand back with a nod. Knowing she will freak the fuck out.
David pretends to stretch in the booth, turning his head to check her out. Steve rolls his eyes. Real smooth Silver. When David turns back to Steve and Erica, he swallows thickly. Denial clouds his features. "It kind of looks like her."
Erica sighs, "If you want something done right don't send a man in to do it. David move over like 4 inches?" David obliges. The girl is visible now, head down. Erica watches her. Silence reigns over the table. She stares willing her to look up. The girl is at least 20 pounds skinnier then Brenda was and Brenda was always thin. She is waif like, small and looks unhealthy in her coloring. Her hair is a dark brown, like Brenda's but is missing the shine and sheen that Brenda always had. Then the woman looks up.
An audible gasp comes from Erica. Tears fill her eyes instantly.
"It is her." She whispers grabbing Steve's hand again tightly. "Oh my god." She knows she is staring but can't take her eyes off her in fear she'll disappear.
"You both want it to be her," David says, overly cautious. "You're seeing things. She is just a random girl that resembles Brenda."
Both Erica and Steve tune out David, then tunes back into the world when he realizes the woman in the booth is shaking her head at the waitress. Then the woman in the booth is speaking to them directly. "That's so nice of you guys. But you seriously don't have to do that."
"She doesn't know us." Steve hears Erica whisper beside him. Steve just stares at her, her voice, a husky paralyzing familiarity, is distinctively Brenda.
She's frowning.
He's gawking.
God damn, man. Pull it together.
"Yeah, we seriously do." Steve's throat finally works and he floats her a smile. "Please. It's on us."
The waitress gives the woman a stern look. "Order something quick honey, else I'm bringin' you liver and onions."
The woman wrinkles her nose, looking so much like Brenda that Erica gasps again. Steve's hand moves from her hand to her knee, he squeezes gently, telling Erica to be calm in a low voice, not to scare her off.
"Ok. Ok." Erica whispers emotionally. It's taking everything she has not to jump over this table and tackle her sister-in-law in hugs and kisses.
They listen as the woman rattles off an order for a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake.
Steve wants…no craves…a better look at the woman. He needs to get up close and personal. Though his mind is screaming this is crazy…this is amazing…this is im-fucking-possible. His gut is telling him to pick up the pieces and follow the thread. When the waitress disappears into the kitchen, Steve decides to make a move.
"You want to join us?" He offers. His voice sounds overly loud in the empty diner. Her wipes a sweaty hand on the thighs of his pants as he waits for her answer.
She looks startled. Uncomfortable, even. Like she's bracing her body for a blow, she shrinks back into the booth, her thin arms crossing across her midsection.
"You don't have to." David says kindly, seeing her distress. He smiles at her.
"Sometimes it's no fun to eat alone though." Erica finds her voice. She knows she has to get a better look at her. She can't even fathom calling her brother with this news unless they are 100% sure it's Brenda.
The woman looks at them closely. Her eyes zeroing in on each one of them. Studying them. Her eyes softening as they land on Steve. The wary frown in her forehead smooths out. Finally, she gives a determined nod. "Yeah, you know what? I'd love that."
Steve leans forward.
David holds up his hand and mouths easy at both Steve and Erica who also looks like she's chomping at the bit. "I'm not stupid." Steve grits.
He watches the woman slide out of the booth, bag in her hands, and slips in beside David.
David gives her space so as to not crowd her. With an extended hand, palm up, he makes introductions. "I'm David and this is Steve and Erica."
"Isabel." She says, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan down around her hands.
"Isabel huh?" That earns Steve another kick under the table from David and Erica, who both shoot him an act normal look.
"Well, Isabel." David crosses his arms behind his head. 'What brings you here today to this lovely culinary establishment?"
"A bus." She quips and David throws his head back and belly laughs, causing a bright beam of a smile to grace Isabel's face. "Honestly, a burger, fries and milkshake. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Is that wrong?"
David shakes his head with a smile, "Not at all. I mean go big or go home, right?"
Steve lets David and Erica who is abnormally quiet next to him make conversation as he studies the woman's face. In his head, he conjures up the ghost of Brenda. The other half to the Minnesota twins, then his good friend…his best friends…everything.
It's like looking into a time machine.
The woman's hair is a dark brown like Brenda's used to be. And it's long, water falling down the middle of her waist, like she hasn't had a trim in months. The dress she wears is frayed and thin. Like the woman herself. While Brenda was always slight, she was never this, never skin and bones. But her eyes, man. They're the same eyes. Big blue grayish pools. Brenda had eyes that could see right through you. See your soul, see your bullshit, which she gladly called you out on. The only thing missing as Steve stares at this ghost of the past is the feisty sparkle that lit her up inside. The sparkle that made it hard to stay mad at her…the sparkle that made Dylan happy and made him a better man.
Steve's eyes move to the wedding ring on her hand. It's big and clunky. Fake as shit.
The ring Dylan had given her was a thin platinum band studded with diamonds. Steve remembers it well because when Dylan had bought it he remembered telling him that it was too small, to stop being a cheap ass and to buy Brenda a ring she deserved. Dylan argued saying he didn't know Brenda then. She wasn't flashy, that it's antique quality screamed Brenda and to shut the fuck up. Steve had been wrong, Brenda loved that ring.
His eyes still on her hands, it hits him then how he can ID her. She and Dylan had matching tattoos on the inside of their wrists . But Isabel sits with her hands clasped like she's waiting for a church sermon. He had forgotten the tattoo, this whole time when she was shaking hands it was the perfect opportunity to catch it.
He had forgotten how a guy who hated tattoos and a girl who was deathly afraid of needless had one. He kicked himself this time for being so stupid.
Frustrated, Steve's attention drifts back to her face.
What he sees next makes his blood boil. On the inside of her pale throat, finger-sized bruises stand attention. Steve's fists curl beneath the table. Someone hurt her. Even worse, if this is actually who he thinks it is, someone hurt Brenda.
Their Brenda.
Trying to talk himself down, Steve releases his fists. As he comes back to the present, he's aware the woman is speaking to him. He's also aware David and Erica are silent. David's eyes serious once again, and Steve wonders if he believes him now.
Isabel gives him a curious smile. "So David and Erica were saying they are in a band? Are you as well?"
Steve shakes his head, "Someone has to manage these assholes."
She smiles with a soft chuckle, "Are you guys famous?"
Her head looking from David to Erica.
"People…know us." Erica says quietly. Little does this woman know if she is actually Brenda…she's famous as hell and all three of them at this table have been in the spotlight because of her.
Steve smiles, damn near ready to jump out of his skin. He keeps trying to get a look at her wrist and the tattoo that lives there, but she keeps drawing the cardigan sleeves down over her hands. Steve's head is on a fucking swivel. The woman's off, confused, doesn't know them, even though she has known them half her life but she looks-talks-walks like Brenda. A thousand questions zip through his head. If she is Brenda, then why is she here? How the hell has she been surviving all this time? Why is she miles away from any of the cities she lived in…especially Tennessee, calling herself by another name, with a different wedding ring on her finger, seeming so unlike herself, so very lost?
Something is wrong. Really goddamn wrong. Steve thinks about Dylan…what this will do to him. If she doesn't know them…she won't know him. Then he thinks about Brandon who he still talks to. Granted not as much as they used to because Brandon can't stand Dylan but they are friends. This will force Brandon and Dylan to face their past and get along for Brenda's sake. If this is Brenda. But christ she is a hell of a dobble ganger.
Steve opens his mouth, unsure of his next words but then the waitress appears with their food.
God this food tastes good.
Isabel shovels food in her mouth like her life depends on it. Which, if she is being technical about it, it actually does. Last meal, last conversation. Might as well make the most of it.
She listens intently as the curly headed beauty and the hot guy to her left tell her about their music ambitions. They are nice, friendly, they feel like friends even though she doesn't know them. They make small talk of strangers, it's a comfort, not to mention a welcome distraction from what she's about to do.
But small talk wasn't what made her take them up on their offer to buy her a meal. It was the man. The blonde haired one.
Steve.
She's seen him before. She doesn't know where. As she finishes her fries, Isabel studies Steve. There's a kindness, a familiarity in his blue eyes. There is something about him that feels like a friend, like a brother. Which is ridiculous because she has no siblings. But the feeling is thick, it makes her want to reach out and grab his hand and squeeze it. An SOS signal of hope. Of help.
The thought comes sudden and fierce. He saved me once. He can do it again.
You're coming unglued Isabel. You're looking for a way out.
Her eyes bead with hot tears and she glances fast out the window. She's spent too long here at this table with these people. The ocean calls her. She'll be free there. No more will Vince have his fists around her throat.
"Hey." A soft voice says. "You okay?"
Looking up, she meets Steve's worried gaze. She then looks to the pretty curly hair girl, who looks like she wants to jump over the table and hug her. And the hot guy who sits next to her. All looking at her with concern.
She forces a shaky smile. "I'm fine." She rubs her temple, where a migraine threatens to detonate, and pushes her plate away. "I should go."
Steve's blue eyes go wide. "What?"
Her heart gives a twinge at the strange way he's looking at her. Anguish and pain cross his face. It's almost enough to make her stay.
Almost.
Isabel takes a deep breath, wanting to get away from the strange emotions that have welled up being with these strangers. Because they don't feel like strangers at all. It's not helping her any. Nothing can. It's hopeless.
Steve shakes his head as she gathers her bag, a slow swing of denial. "Wait. You can't go…"
"Pie." David interrupts, and she blinks. Hastily, he signals the waitress. "You can't go because you should have pie. I hear they make a mean peach pie…probably not as good as the pit but…"
Now it's Steve's turn to kick David under the table.
"The pit?" Isabel repeats.
She watches all three of them look at each other. Fearful and intent. Steve is leaning so far forward in the booth she's worried he'll apple over.
Liquid heat sears her temple. Isabel sucks in a hiss, refusing to let the pain take its toll.
"I can't." She says, sliding out of the booth. "I have an appointment." The thought is so morbid, she has to swallow a laugh. Hell, if that isn't the understatement of the century. How she can be so cavalier about her impending death baffles her. But it also bolsters her. It's the most strength she's had in ages.
She stares down at David, Steve and Erica, her heart full of gratefulness for the kindness they've shown. "Thank you." She means it with every bone in her body. "For everything."
Before they can say another word, she's gone.
Ok so Isabel is Brenda. Sorry if that was confusing. Next up continues from here, then back to Dylan. Thanks for giving this a chance. I know amnesia stories can be soapy and dumb. Hope this one doesn't let you down. Hit review my friends. Will work on the next chapter tomorrow.