Author's Note:
Thanks for all the great responses. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
~ * ~
"Is everyone tugging at your idea to be free?"
- "Elysium," Madness
~ * ~
I finally got myself checked out and it's exactly what I thought it was. I've been seeing the same doctor for the last ten years and I think he has some idea of what I do for a living. Or at least I think he does, because he didn't even blink when I came in and told him I couldn't remember if I had a baby or not. I remember sitting in the examining room nervously, still wearing one of those crinkly, paper gowns, when my doctor walked in. He looked confused, tired, and very worried. "We have a very serious problem, Sydney," he said.
It took a moment for his concern to register. It had all seemed so impossible, so improbable, and I had been regarding the entire experience with a sense of cold detachment. I knew I had a scar on my stomach, I knew what it could mean, but it never really occurred to me that I could be a mommy. "What?" I asked a little too nonchalantly and he looked at me strangely.
"Sydney, do you remember when we discussed what this scar could be?"
I nodded. "Of course. You think I was pregnant. I think you're crazy."
"Sydney, you were pregnant. I looked at the ultrasound. There's evidence of a scar along your uterus and as you know, a scar along your pubic bone. You're very lucky, Sydney. Whoever took care of you did a very good job. There's no scar tissue and I don't foresee any permanent damage."
I shook my head in disbelief. "But you said it could be any number of things. I could have cut myself, or. . .or" I searched for words. "Or I could have had my appendix out!"
He shook his head sadly, his eyes full of pity. "The scar is in the wrong place for an appendix operation. You had a baby, Sydney," he said softly. "I'm sorry I can't give you the news you want."
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no, no! You're lying. Did Kendall put you up to this? My father? Who do you work for?" So much for calm detachment; I was so surprised my shoulders practically shook with anger.
"I don't work for anyone, Sydney. I know this is difficult for you to hear, but we need to deal with it."
"There's nothing to deal with. I had a baby and how he's gone. I can't do anything about it." My words were calm this time, cold and crisp. As the surprise wore off I succumbed to numbing shock. I knew what he'd said, I heard about my baby, but it wasn't sinking in.
He cocked his head and examined me curiously, his eyes searching my face. "What?" I demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You said your child was a boy."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did. Sydney, is there something you're not telling me?"
I sighed heavily and rubbed the scar on my stomach. "I've been having these dreams," I said softly. "About my baby."
"What about your baby?"
"It's not much. I'm on this porch, somewhere near the ocean. It's sunny and bright and I hear laughter behind me so I turn around and there he is."
"Your son?"
I heard my voice get soft, almost wistful. "He's really beautiful, like an angel. Blonde hair, blue eyes, looks nothing like me. In fact, he looks just like--" I stop, press a shaky hand to my mouth. I can't bring myself to mention that he looks like Sark or that he has my mother's eyes. I bring his tiny face to mind, hear his laughter in my ears, and realize how much time I've lost. I was pregnant, had a baby, raised a baby, hell I conceived a baby--and I can't remember any of it. "Oh, god," I whispered. "This is real isn't it?"
He sighed sympathetically and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Sydney, I know this is difficult. Is there someone you can talk to? Someone I can call?"
It took me a moment to respond. "No, don't call anyone. I know someone."
"You're sure? I can recommend a lot of good people--"
"Thank you," I interrupted. "But I'll be fine."
"You're sure? Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No, I think I just need some time alone, let it all sink in, you know?"
He squeezed my hand. "Take care, Sydney."
"You too."
~ * ~
Two hours later I'm sitting on the beach staring blankly at the ocean. I'm getting so predictable it's not even funny anymore. It felt good and I'm much more relaxed when I pick up and go home, but the instant I step foot in my apartment it all goes to waste. My apartment's a big space, lots of windows and light, but I feel claustrophobic. My heartbeat quickens and my chest hurts with the effort it takes to simply breathe. I rush to the patio push the doors open with a desperate shove. I breathe in mouthfuls of cool, salty air and press a hand to my forehead. My skin is clammy and cold, and my fingers shake a little. I know I can't go on like this. It's almost at the point where I'll have to camp out on the beach to survive. I sink to the ground and gather my knees to my chest. "Sydney, get a grip," I say out loud, but all I can do is rest my chin against my legs and stare out at the sea. Inside, I hear my phone ring, but ignore it, as I've been ignoring all calls for the last few weeks. My dad actually kept his word and has left me alone, but Will calls at least once a day. The poor guy just can't seem to take a hint. I've blocked his calls, ignored his calls, but he won't give up. I know at some point I'll have to start responding to him again if I want any friends when I get my life together, but not yet. Right now I can't seem to go a day without a panic attack and that's not exactly conducive to a friendship.
I push off the deck and open the door to my apartment. The sun is just beginning to set, bright swatches of light filling the room, and something glints bright and silvery in the corner. It's a picture frame, one of my parents and me when I was a little girl. It's the way I like to remember them, happy and full of love, before my mother destroyed our lives. I pick the frame up, surprised by the innocence in my mother's eyes, the sincerity of her smile, and suddenly I know exactly what to do. I might be nearly thirty-years-old, independent and on my own for almost a decade, but I do what any girl in her right mind would--I run home to my mother.
~ * ~
It takes nearly an entire day, and a little deception lies, to get to the tiny, Pacific island my mother now calls home. First and foremost, I had to lie to my father. I called him, just like I said I would, and told him I was going on a trip. He asked for itinerary, phone numbers, addresses--and it broke my heart to lie. It was the first time we'd spoken in over three weeks and I couldn't tell him the truth. If he found out I was going to see my mother over him he would be hurt, feel betrayed, and right now I need him on my side. The only positive thing that's happened since I died is my relationship with my father and I can't destroy that by hurting to him; so I lie instead. I tell him I'm just going to get in my car and drive, and I did drive--to the airport.
The sun is just setting when my plane touches down on a runway surrounded by frilly palms and brilliant flowers. I didn't tell her I'm coming, it was going to be a surprise, but there's a car waiting for me at the edge of the landing strip. The driver is just like everyone else who works for her: dark, mysterious, and very Russian. He introduces himself as Sergei and tells me that my mother is expecting me. I don't even bother asking how she knows. It's so hard, because I want to remember her the way she looked in the picture in my living room, but I meet someone like this man and instantly reminded how cold, calculating, manipulative, and dangerous she is. Still, I know that deep down, in her own way, she loves me and that's why I'm here. She might be a highly-trained assassin and enemy of the USA, but she's still my mother, and even more importantly, in my own way I love her.
We pull up at whitewashed house on a bluff overlooking the ocean. There's a wide porch wrapping around the house and for an instant a memory flashes before my eyes. I see myself standing on the same porch, my arms wrapped around my extended abdomen as I look out at the ocean. I look down for a second and realize there's another set of arms wrapped around me, strong, well-muscled arms with long-fingered hands that caress my belly. "Kick for, Daddy," I hear a British-tinged voice whisper in my ear.
I gasp, feel my bag slip out of my hand and crash to the ground. A hand tugs lightly on my arm. "Ms. Bristow?" Sergei asks in heavily accented Russian. "Are you all right?"
I blink a few times against the bright sunshine as the memory slips away as quickly as it came. "I've been here before, haven't I?" I ask him, but he simply stares at me with blank innocence.
"Irina is waiting," he answers. "Why don't you go inside? You must be tired after your trip."
"I think I'm going for a walk instead," I say and start towards the water. What started out as a simple trip to see my mother has turned out to be much more, too much in fact. I'm so angry I could scream. I can't believe she knows what happened to me. I remember that first day I talked to her when I got back and she was all sympathetic smiles, reassuring me she'd do whatever she could to help me remember. Liar. All these weeks I've been turning myself inside and out trying to remember and she's known all along.
"You're mother is waiting," Sergei says and reaches for my arm again, but I slip out of his grasp.
"I don't care. I'll see her when I'm ready," I say angrily and storm off down the beach, sand kicking up at my heels. I can feel his eyes on my retreating back and expect him to come after me, but instead he grumbles something under his breath in Russian and drags my baggage inside the house.
I stand at the water's edge, watching the glittery sparkle of sunlight hitting the surface. The water is so different here than at home, crystal clear and deep blue. I can see a coral reef and it looks like every color of the rainbow shimmering under the surface. I sink down into the sand and pull of my sandals, burying my bare feet under its silken cover. I lean back on my hands, letting grains sift between my fingers, closing my eyes to let the warm sunlight caress my face.
It's like a dream, the water lapping softly against my legs as I pull him with me into the sand. It's night, the air hot and sultry against our bare bodies, a million stars in the inky black sky. A breeze blows over my hot cheeks, and I cry out at the contrast of feelings, my hot skin and the cool water, his hard body pressed against my soft curves. I wrap my legs tighter around his hips and gasp as his lips trace a pattern down my neck. Above the stars seem to shatter in the sky and I fly and fly and fly. .
I open my eyes and quickly stand up, brushing sand away. My mother's house looms above me, beckoning me to find its secrets. I came here to get away, to escape, but it seems my past had a way of catching up with me. I don't know what my mother knows, or what she's hiding, but I know something led me here and I can't avoid it any longer. With a heavy sigh I trudge up the walk to the house and what I can only guess is my destiny.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!
Thanks for all the great responses. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
~ * ~
"Is everyone tugging at your idea to be free?"
- "Elysium," Madness
~ * ~
I finally got myself checked out and it's exactly what I thought it was. I've been seeing the same doctor for the last ten years and I think he has some idea of what I do for a living. Or at least I think he does, because he didn't even blink when I came in and told him I couldn't remember if I had a baby or not. I remember sitting in the examining room nervously, still wearing one of those crinkly, paper gowns, when my doctor walked in. He looked confused, tired, and very worried. "We have a very serious problem, Sydney," he said.
It took a moment for his concern to register. It had all seemed so impossible, so improbable, and I had been regarding the entire experience with a sense of cold detachment. I knew I had a scar on my stomach, I knew what it could mean, but it never really occurred to me that I could be a mommy. "What?" I asked a little too nonchalantly and he looked at me strangely.
"Sydney, do you remember when we discussed what this scar could be?"
I nodded. "Of course. You think I was pregnant. I think you're crazy."
"Sydney, you were pregnant. I looked at the ultrasound. There's evidence of a scar along your uterus and as you know, a scar along your pubic bone. You're very lucky, Sydney. Whoever took care of you did a very good job. There's no scar tissue and I don't foresee any permanent damage."
I shook my head in disbelief. "But you said it could be any number of things. I could have cut myself, or. . .or" I searched for words. "Or I could have had my appendix out!"
He shook his head sadly, his eyes full of pity. "The scar is in the wrong place for an appendix operation. You had a baby, Sydney," he said softly. "I'm sorry I can't give you the news you want."
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no, no! You're lying. Did Kendall put you up to this? My father? Who do you work for?" So much for calm detachment; I was so surprised my shoulders practically shook with anger.
"I don't work for anyone, Sydney. I know this is difficult for you to hear, but we need to deal with it."
"There's nothing to deal with. I had a baby and how he's gone. I can't do anything about it." My words were calm this time, cold and crisp. As the surprise wore off I succumbed to numbing shock. I knew what he'd said, I heard about my baby, but it wasn't sinking in.
He cocked his head and examined me curiously, his eyes searching my face. "What?" I demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You said your child was a boy."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did. Sydney, is there something you're not telling me?"
I sighed heavily and rubbed the scar on my stomach. "I've been having these dreams," I said softly. "About my baby."
"What about your baby?"
"It's not much. I'm on this porch, somewhere near the ocean. It's sunny and bright and I hear laughter behind me so I turn around and there he is."
"Your son?"
I heard my voice get soft, almost wistful. "He's really beautiful, like an angel. Blonde hair, blue eyes, looks nothing like me. In fact, he looks just like--" I stop, press a shaky hand to my mouth. I can't bring myself to mention that he looks like Sark or that he has my mother's eyes. I bring his tiny face to mind, hear his laughter in my ears, and realize how much time I've lost. I was pregnant, had a baby, raised a baby, hell I conceived a baby--and I can't remember any of it. "Oh, god," I whispered. "This is real isn't it?"
He sighed sympathetically and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Sydney, I know this is difficult. Is there someone you can talk to? Someone I can call?"
It took me a moment to respond. "No, don't call anyone. I know someone."
"You're sure? I can recommend a lot of good people--"
"Thank you," I interrupted. "But I'll be fine."
"You're sure? Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No, I think I just need some time alone, let it all sink in, you know?"
He squeezed my hand. "Take care, Sydney."
"You too."
~ * ~
Two hours later I'm sitting on the beach staring blankly at the ocean. I'm getting so predictable it's not even funny anymore. It felt good and I'm much more relaxed when I pick up and go home, but the instant I step foot in my apartment it all goes to waste. My apartment's a big space, lots of windows and light, but I feel claustrophobic. My heartbeat quickens and my chest hurts with the effort it takes to simply breathe. I rush to the patio push the doors open with a desperate shove. I breathe in mouthfuls of cool, salty air and press a hand to my forehead. My skin is clammy and cold, and my fingers shake a little. I know I can't go on like this. It's almost at the point where I'll have to camp out on the beach to survive. I sink to the ground and gather my knees to my chest. "Sydney, get a grip," I say out loud, but all I can do is rest my chin against my legs and stare out at the sea. Inside, I hear my phone ring, but ignore it, as I've been ignoring all calls for the last few weeks. My dad actually kept his word and has left me alone, but Will calls at least once a day. The poor guy just can't seem to take a hint. I've blocked his calls, ignored his calls, but he won't give up. I know at some point I'll have to start responding to him again if I want any friends when I get my life together, but not yet. Right now I can't seem to go a day without a panic attack and that's not exactly conducive to a friendship.
I push off the deck and open the door to my apartment. The sun is just beginning to set, bright swatches of light filling the room, and something glints bright and silvery in the corner. It's a picture frame, one of my parents and me when I was a little girl. It's the way I like to remember them, happy and full of love, before my mother destroyed our lives. I pick the frame up, surprised by the innocence in my mother's eyes, the sincerity of her smile, and suddenly I know exactly what to do. I might be nearly thirty-years-old, independent and on my own for almost a decade, but I do what any girl in her right mind would--I run home to my mother.
~ * ~
It takes nearly an entire day, and a little deception lies, to get to the tiny, Pacific island my mother now calls home. First and foremost, I had to lie to my father. I called him, just like I said I would, and told him I was going on a trip. He asked for itinerary, phone numbers, addresses--and it broke my heart to lie. It was the first time we'd spoken in over three weeks and I couldn't tell him the truth. If he found out I was going to see my mother over him he would be hurt, feel betrayed, and right now I need him on my side. The only positive thing that's happened since I died is my relationship with my father and I can't destroy that by hurting to him; so I lie instead. I tell him I'm just going to get in my car and drive, and I did drive--to the airport.
The sun is just setting when my plane touches down on a runway surrounded by frilly palms and brilliant flowers. I didn't tell her I'm coming, it was going to be a surprise, but there's a car waiting for me at the edge of the landing strip. The driver is just like everyone else who works for her: dark, mysterious, and very Russian. He introduces himself as Sergei and tells me that my mother is expecting me. I don't even bother asking how she knows. It's so hard, because I want to remember her the way she looked in the picture in my living room, but I meet someone like this man and instantly reminded how cold, calculating, manipulative, and dangerous she is. Still, I know that deep down, in her own way, she loves me and that's why I'm here. She might be a highly-trained assassin and enemy of the USA, but she's still my mother, and even more importantly, in my own way I love her.
We pull up at whitewashed house on a bluff overlooking the ocean. There's a wide porch wrapping around the house and for an instant a memory flashes before my eyes. I see myself standing on the same porch, my arms wrapped around my extended abdomen as I look out at the ocean. I look down for a second and realize there's another set of arms wrapped around me, strong, well-muscled arms with long-fingered hands that caress my belly. "Kick for, Daddy," I hear a British-tinged voice whisper in my ear.
I gasp, feel my bag slip out of my hand and crash to the ground. A hand tugs lightly on my arm. "Ms. Bristow?" Sergei asks in heavily accented Russian. "Are you all right?"
I blink a few times against the bright sunshine as the memory slips away as quickly as it came. "I've been here before, haven't I?" I ask him, but he simply stares at me with blank innocence.
"Irina is waiting," he answers. "Why don't you go inside? You must be tired after your trip."
"I think I'm going for a walk instead," I say and start towards the water. What started out as a simple trip to see my mother has turned out to be much more, too much in fact. I'm so angry I could scream. I can't believe she knows what happened to me. I remember that first day I talked to her when I got back and she was all sympathetic smiles, reassuring me she'd do whatever she could to help me remember. Liar. All these weeks I've been turning myself inside and out trying to remember and she's known all along.
"You're mother is waiting," Sergei says and reaches for my arm again, but I slip out of his grasp.
"I don't care. I'll see her when I'm ready," I say angrily and storm off down the beach, sand kicking up at my heels. I can feel his eyes on my retreating back and expect him to come after me, but instead he grumbles something under his breath in Russian and drags my baggage inside the house.
I stand at the water's edge, watching the glittery sparkle of sunlight hitting the surface. The water is so different here than at home, crystal clear and deep blue. I can see a coral reef and it looks like every color of the rainbow shimmering under the surface. I sink down into the sand and pull of my sandals, burying my bare feet under its silken cover. I lean back on my hands, letting grains sift between my fingers, closing my eyes to let the warm sunlight caress my face.
It's like a dream, the water lapping softly against my legs as I pull him with me into the sand. It's night, the air hot and sultry against our bare bodies, a million stars in the inky black sky. A breeze blows over my hot cheeks, and I cry out at the contrast of feelings, my hot skin and the cool water, his hard body pressed against my soft curves. I wrap my legs tighter around his hips and gasp as his lips trace a pattern down my neck. Above the stars seem to shatter in the sky and I fly and fly and fly. .
I open my eyes and quickly stand up, brushing sand away. My mother's house looms above me, beckoning me to find its secrets. I came here to get away, to escape, but it seems my past had a way of catching up with me. I don't know what my mother knows, or what she's hiding, but I know something led me here and I can't avoid it any longer. With a heavy sigh I trudge up the walk to the house and what I can only guess is my destiny.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!