Memories

Chapter Twelve

When I woke I wasn't alone. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Hospitals have a distinct smell, far too clean to be mistaken for anything else. But even so, I didn't immediately realize where I was. My brain was fuzzy, my sight was blurry, and my body felt…odd. Like it was supposed to hurt, but didn't remember how. I started to sit up when I looked around and took note of my surrounding for the first time.

"She's awake!"

A woman in the corner jumped out of her chair and came to the side of my bed. Her presence was so sudden and so shocking that I jerked away from her.

"Julie, dear, how do you feel?" She grabbed for my hand, but I pulled away and cradled it close to my chest. There were scrapes and bruises all over both hands. Scraped and bruises that I couldn't remember getting.

The woman was staring earnestly at me, waiting for me to answer. How do you feel? I wanted to answer her, she looked so desperate, but I couldn't. I couldn't think. My leg was starting to register pain and my heart was beating wildly in my chest. How do you feel? How should I answer? What did she want from me?

"Nurse!" The woman got up from bed and ran toward the door. "Someone! Someone come in here. She's awake."

And then she was back at my bedside. Something about the woman made me nervous, though I couldn't quite tell what it was. I edged toward the opposite side of the bed, eager to be away from her.

"Julie, honey, I'm so sorry."

Sorry? What was she sorry for? I didn't even know this woman and there she was, pestering me when all I wanted was to be left alone and figure out what was going on. But she dropped to her knees beside my bed and clenched her fists is the blanket and ducked her head.

"I'm so, so sorry."

The woman was crying. The soft, quiet cry of someone who'd been doing it for a long time. Whatever she'd done, she was so ashamed she wouldn't even look at me. Not that I wanted her to look at me.

And yet, some part of me went out to her. I was torn between the desire to hold her hand, to comfort her, and to demand that she get out of the room. She was so close. So close to me. And I didn't even know her. I was quivering at the edge of the narrow bed. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure the whole world could hear it. I just wanted her to leave. To give me some room to breath.

I couldn't breath. She was too close. And still crying. What was I supposed to do? And why was she here?

Why was I there, in a hospital? I looked around, looked at my arms. They were covered in cuts and abrasions, one deep enough to get stitches. There was an IV taped to my left arm and I looked up at the half-drained bag. What had happened to me?

I was saved by the doctor. A middle-aged man in a white coat walked briskly into the room and started looking at the equipment I was attached to. The crying woman stood and wiped her cheeks briskly.

"Well, Miss A-. It's nice to see you up finally."

I stared at him, still tensed and tucked in on myself, with my fear evident on my face. The doctor stopped looking at the equipment and looked at me instead.

"Do you know where you are?"

"In…in a hospital?" I ventured.

"Do you know what happened to you?"

I shook my head. I couldn't remember anything that had happened before.

The doctor frowned and crossed his arms. "Julie, can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

I tried. I thought back and tried to remember what had landed me in a hospital. But I couldn't. So I tried to remember what I'd last done. But I couldn't. And then the panic set in. My mind wasn't just fuzzy. I was grasping for a memory, any memory, no matter how distant or irrelevant, any memory at all to give him. But I couldn't. I couldn't remember anything. I was lost. Alone. I had nothing, absolutely nothing to tie me to this world. I had nothing of me. I didn't exist!

I thought my heart was pounding before, but I was wrong. I grew lightheaded and my vision swam. I couldn't tell if it was the panic or the tears that were gathering behind my eyes. My chest was so tight I started gasping for breath, which only caused pain that made the panic worse.

I was nothing. I had no memories. No name. No me. Nothing.

I covered my face with my hands and gave in to the tears.

Nothing.

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It was hours before I was calm enough to hear what had happened to me. My name was Julianne. The woman crying at my bedside was my mother. The man and two children who came in a few hours later were the rest of my family. I'd been found the morning before in the wreckage of a car accident. Two vehicles were found at the bottom of a small depression near a creek. The other driver was dead, and I suffered head trauma, a fractured leg, cracked ribs, and more cuts and minor injuries than I cared to keep track of. And amnesia.

I was in denial at first. It was ridiculous. Who outside of soap stars ever got amnesia? Certainly not normal people. But the doctor assured me that it wasn't entirely uncommon for head trauma patients and that my memory should return within a few days. When he told me this I wasn't watching him. I was staring at the opposite wall, listening with only half my attention.

I was girl who had been in a car crash. My entire existence revolved around this one incident. The only thing I knew for sure about myself. Everything else about me I knew from other people. Strangers. How could I believe from them what I couldn't remember for myself? I didn't even know them. Hell, I didn't know my own name.

After the doctor finished his explanation he asked if I wanted to see my family again. I told him no, that I was tired and just wanted to sleep. In truth, I didn't want to see anyone. I just wanted to be alone and wallow in the misery of my loneliness. Not the best thing in the world to do, but I simply didn't have the strength to face the world when I didn't even have a personality to hide behind. How would I act? Was I normally talkative? Shy? Was I even a nice person? I had no idea.

The doctor seemed to understand. He left me alone in my room after giving me another dose of pain-killer for my leg and ribs. I wasn't really tired, but with the drugs soon fell asleep anyway. What reason did I have to stay awake?

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I woke in the middle of the night. My first thought was of my leg, that maybe the injury had woken up. I was reaching for the buzzer to call the nurse when I realized that I wasn't alone in the room.

In the far corner, sitting in the same chair used by my mother earlier that day. I propped myself up on one elbow and squinted to look at him.

"Who are you?"

I am the Elimist.

The noise came from nowhere and everywhere at once. I jerked and looked around, trying to find the source, but the sudden movement just made my chest hurt. But after a few seconds the pain disappeared. All of it. Not just the pain in my ribs, but the lingering pain in my leg and the soreness in my limbs and head as well. I felt light. As if the only thing keeping me from floating away was the blanket draped over me.

I glanced at the stranger in the chair. Should I know him?

Do not be afraid. You don't know me, but I know you.

"How?"

I've been watching you.

I squinted again, trying to get a better look at the guy. He wasn't in any deep shadow, but I still couldn't make out any features other than a stooped posture and a long white beard. "Why? What do you want from me?"

I want nothing from you. I have come to apologize, for I fear my actions have brought you to this place.

My mind was scrambling. His actions? Was it his fault I crashed? Oh, god, was he the ghost of the other driver? I didn't really believe in ghosts, I think, but the eerie voice and ghostly figure had me ready to believe anything.

I am not a ghost, he said, responding to my unspoken fears. Then he hesitated. I had the feeling he was unsure of what to do next, and that he was not used to being so lost. Would you like to know yourself?

"What are you talking about?"

You are bereft at the loss of your memory. You think that without it you are nothing, but this is not true. Your thread, your soul, is still intact and as much true to you as it ever was.

"How can that be? How can I be anything when I can't even remember anything? I can't remember the faces of my own family. The people who are supposed to be dearest to me are complete strangers. I'm a stranger."

There are things in your past that you will not wish to remember. I am here to apologize, and to offer you a choice. I can take your pain away, both the pain in your body and the pain in your heart, or I can give you your memories.

I stared at this being in amazement. "You can do that? How?"

That is not important.

It was a trick. Had to be. Some crazy, drug-induced dream. And yet, if it were real… Besides, if it were a dream how much could it hurt to play along?

"If…if I pick the first one, will my memory ever come back?"

Perhaps. In time. Probably not.

I thought about his offer for a long time. The physical pain wasn't unbearable and I knew it would pass in time. But the 'pain in my heart'? That had been tearing at me since the moment I realized I couldn't remember myself. Would that ever go away? And yet, he seemed so hesitant to give me my memories back. What had I done that was so horrible?

My choices were to get back my memory, or stop caring that I'd lost it. Live with a burden or without myself.

"I want to know. I don't care what I've done; I just want to know who I am."

The Elimist seemed sad, but he bowed his head. And then he showed me everything.

Everything.

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The Elimist didn't tell me my life like a story. He didn't spell it out for me like a book that I could commit as a new memory. He simply…put everything back. It wasn't as if my mind had been restored, but more like a new one, or possibly just a backup, had been dumped into my brain. I was overcome with memories and thoughts. Lost in words and visions and sounds. Lost to everything but my own mind as I tried to process it. I could have been like that for hours, for days, or maybe only a few seconds. I heard. I saw. I remembered. But I never felt. Not the pleasure or the pain or sadness of my past. I only saw it.

But even seeing was too much. I saw the battles. I saw the carnage. I saw my sister's face as I yelled at her. I saw my mother's when I told her she'd failed as my parent. I saw Jake and Rachel and Cassie and Tobias and Ax. And I saw Marco. But mostly I saw my mother. I saw her pain from that night and the echo of it in the face of a stranger at my bedside. And I saw my own face, and everything that had happened to me.

I lay on my back in the hospital bed, wanting to curl into a miserable ball but afraid of what my ribs might do. I no longer felt light. I felt incredibly heavy and hollow all at once. I wanted to curl in, to collapse into my self and disappear.

"Why?" I croaked, my throat tight and sore from suppressed sobs. "Why are you here?"

Because you shouldn't be, he answered. This war should not have involved you. These six children, these Animorphs, will fight the Yeerks. And whether they win or loose has yet to be seen, but they will fight and decide more than their own fate. But you, my dear, were never supposed to be a part of it.

"You…you put them in this war? You use them? Like chess pieces?"

He didn't answer me. Perhaps the answer was too obvious to voice. Perhaps he just didn't want to say out loud.

"So why me? Why did this happen to me?"

I cannot say.

"Can't or won't?"

Cannot. There are forces at work in the universe greater than Cryak and myself. Some may call it God, some fate, and some coincidence. Whatever you chose to call it, it had a role for you to play. Something will come of what you've done; suffering is never done in vain.

"What? What good can possibly come of this?"

I don't know. The threads of our actions are enormously complex. Even I cannot see every outcome of our actions, only the most immediate ones.

"But…there is a point to all this. What I did, that mattered?"

Everything matters. No suffering is ever in vain, even if the gain is not always obvious.

He started to fade and I felt myself grow sleepy against my will.

"Wait," I called. I had one more question. It was silly, but I had to ask. "What do you call it? The…the force that's bigger than you?"

Choice.

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I knew everything. In the morning I greeted my siblings by name and answered a barrage of questions about my life and childhood. Mom was so happy she broke down in tears again and hugged me until I thought the pain in my ribs would kill me. But she was my mom and I loved her so I didn't try to push her off.

I couldn't answer all of their questions. I couldn't tell them about the Animorphs, about what I'd done that night, or about several nights prior to that. I told them my memory was still sketchy and fudged a few other questions as well. Besides, I didn't want my recovery to seem too miraculous and I was sure Grandma wouldn't mind if I told them I didn't remember her name.

We constructed a statement to give the police from Mom's prodding and my lies. It was actually pretty simple. After the fight with Mom, which I professed not to remember, I went driving. I took the car mostly to get back at Mom, and if it got a bit dinged up so much the better. On the highway a crazy drunk started to follow me and I ran, convinced he was the police and that my mother had called them. The rest was more or less the truth. Though the other driver hadn't been drunk at the time of his death, he friends did testify that he'd been acting bizarrely over the past few days and it was widely believed that he was insane. Who in their right mind eats that much oatmeal anyway? No charges were filed and I was free to recover in relative peace.

Mom stayed with in the room as often as possible. Being a nurse, she wasn't restricted to normal visiting hours and took over most of my care herself. She seemed more…serious. Part of me thought it was just because of the situation. Another part of my hoped she was different. Maybe more…motherly. Even if it did make sneaking out of the house more difficult.

Jake came to visit me several times while in the hospital, but Mom turned him away at the door each time. Apparently she still believed he'd been…well, she was still mistaken about our relationship. I didn't mind terribly because I was afraid of telling him what I knew I'd have to.

He finally snuck in my second night. I was due to go home in the morning and Mom had left to get some sleep. I couldn't get comfortable with my cast, so I was awake when he slipped into the room. It was clear from the spandex how he'd gotten past the nurses.

"Julie? Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Jake. Come over here. Sit."

I was long past being mad at him. I guess falling on my head changed me a bit. Or maybe I was just inclined to forgive him, considering what I was about to do to him.

I didn't give him a chance to speak, though it was clear he wanted to. "Why didn't you come visit me during the day? And why are you wearing bike shorts?"

He blinked at me, confused. "Um…"

"Look, I'm glad you came. There's something I wanted to talk to you about. I've got these holes in my memory, see. They start about two weeks ago and there's whole nights that I've just got no idea what I did."

He understood. He stared to look grim and just a little bit relieved. Infuriating. But I let it go. I pressed on.

"See, the funny thing is, I don't think I want to know what happened in those holes. I think maybe I want to just forget whatever it was and go on with my life."

"Are you sure? What if it was something important?"

"Oh, I'm sure it was something important. That's why I can't let myself remember it. I can't handle it, Jake, whatever it is. It's a big, huge, important secret but it's bigger than I am. I'd just mess everything up. And whatever it is, it's too important to let it get messed up. And besides, I'm sure it's in good hands already. So, I think I just won't try too hard to remember what this secret is."

He nodded. "I see."

"By the way, Mom thinks you're a sex fiend."

Jake almost fell off his chair. I bit back a laugh, not wanting to alert the nurses but almost proud of myself. I'd finally startled Jake, the ever calm, brave, Fearless Leader.

When he recovered, I could tell he was trying to keep from laughing as much as I was. "Well, that explains a lot."

I stopped laughing and gave him a meaningful look. "You'll probably want to stay away for a while. You know, until she stops trying to kill you."

"I'll keep that in mind." He got up to leave, then looked back at me. "Are you sure about this?"

"If I ever change my mind, I do know where you live. But really, Jake, it's better if I just go my own way. I promise I won't tell anyone but I would have doomed everything and we both know it. Some people just aren't meant to change the world."

"There's more than one way to do that, you know."

And then he shrank out of sight beyond the foot of my bed. Morphed into something small and crawled out under the door. I really hoped it wasn't a cockroach.

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I had one more visitor that night, but this one I didn't talk to. Marco came in several hours later, slipping under the door just as Jake did. I woke at the sound of his demorphing, a process that can never be completely quiet. That, and my pain medication was wearing off. But as soon as I realized who my visitor was, I feigned sleep again.

He came to my side and sat in the chair. I almost expected him to wake me, or at least talk to me like people talked to comatose patients. But he just sat there and looked at me. I tried to think of what to say. Maybe I could suddenly wake up and…and…and what? What did I think could happen between Marco and me? What did I want to happen? He was saving the world and me? I was just a failure who couldn't cut it. I was a normal teen with a bad driving record and a heap of trouble. I was nothing compared to him. And even if I wasn't…no, there was no chance at all. Besides, I didn't even like the guy all that much.

Did I?

Before I could decide, Marco stood up. He took my hand in one of his and bushed my hair back from my face with his other. I hardly dared to breath. He leaned in closer, I could feel his body heat, I thought for one agonizing moment that he might kiss me, but then he drew away. He squeezed my hand lightly, let go, and left the room the same way he came in.

If he'd bothered to look back as he left he would have seen me watching him. He would have seen me crying. I wasn't crying because he was leaving me. I didn't love him or anything like that. I wasn't even entirely sure I really liked him. I was crying because I'd never know. Because he and I would never have a chance. Because, even if maybe it wouldn't have worked, maybe it would have. Because the war had taken one more casualty.

But he never did look back.