And you are?
CHAPTER FOUR
Sydney pulled away from the handsome man who'd just kissed her she felt the greatest urge to thump but she held back, he looked up at her hopefully a questioning look on his face, "Do you remember now?"
She shrugged helplessly almost feeling sorry for her fiancé, "I guess I should but…I don't know who you are". She pushed past him to walk away and he grabbed her arm desperately; there was that urge again. "I'm sorry okay I don't know you" she breathed a sigh of relief a he freed her of his grasp.
He kept a close eye on her as she walked back down the stairs to look around the museum he smiled to himself; she may not have any recollection of who she was but she still couldn't stay away from her precious relics. She'd be attached to them she just wouldn't know why.
Sydney crouched down in front of a box, inside it was a wooden statue of a man atop a rearing horse a sword in his hand, it was covered in brown paper and bubble wrap to protect it; something flashed in her mind, a memory? It was on the tip of her mind, she'd seen the statue before…But where?
"You were given that on you're last hunt. You'd found something and they were grateful for our help".
She turned around and looked at her brother, Sam stood before her "Our help?" she questioned.
He nodded smiling at the 'memories', "Yes I joined you, we always go together on the hunts. The relics you find either go to museums around the world or stay here" he paused "Of course sometimes you keep things for your private collection" he told her as an afterthought.
"Private collection?" she asked digging deeper trying to dredge up a forgotten memory.
"Yes, here I'll show you" he took her by the hand and she let him lead her back up the winding staircase from whence she came.
They walked along the landing past many large wooden doors all carved in mosaic type patterns. He stopped outside a room that had no door, in its place was a long see through satiny curtain, magenta in colour with a gold trim and beads along the bottom in an eastern type pattern. She pushed it aside and gazed into the dark room, it was full of pictures, statues or precious carved jewels from all eras; Egyptian, Mayan, African, Indian cultural exhibits littered shelves and tables. A worn deep red leather couch was in the middle of the room a side table beside it; they needed her to remember something's about her life or she'd be no use to them. The drug that was in her system would in time trigger certain memories real memories and memories they had planted during the hypnotic state Tristan had put her in. She would remember them as her family and as long as they managed to inject Tristan's drug into her every two weeks; she'd never remember who she really was.
* * *
Two days later Nigel was sat in the lobby of the hotel he'd checked into the day before; the Roosevelt was situated two blocks away from The Tristan Dell Private Museum, he was shattered; eyes red from lack of sleep. He still hadn't made the trip there he'd been side-tracked along the way; he was napped out of his reverie by a pretty young blond that tapped him on the shoulder she reminds me of Claudia he thought absently. He saw her lips moving but he didn't hear the words that came out, he didn't hear anything in fact; didn't feel anything either.
On his way out of the hotel four hours earlier he'd stopped off at a nearby coffee house to get a quick bite to eat and something to wake him up; out of the corner of his eye he'd seen a headline in the newspaper beside him: MISSING PRESUMED DEAD. He'd shuddered at the thought of what the family of the woman was going through; he'd taken the glasses out of his pocket to read the paper while he waited for his coffee and croissant. It was that one small action that suddenly made his day spiral out of control: Missing presumed dead; the headline flashed across his mind: Sydney Fox was reported missing yesterday. He only saw the first line in the article the rest of the words became a blur; his heart had stopped beating there and then and he'd turned cold, his skin becoming a deathly white as the colour left his face. His hand shook as he turned the page to read the rest of the article: Suitcase, purse, no money inside, blood; his eyes picked out single words as he'd red on: Missing presumed dead. He couldn't get those words out of his head: Owner of museum who sent her on her latest relic hunt says he hasn't heard from her, not a suspect.
He felt empty like a huge piece of him had been taken away, a feeling of nausea wouldn't go from his stomach, a piece of him was missing; Syd was gone and he wouldn't be whole until he found her again.
TBC