Chapter 7/Memory Lane

A slight pressure entered my brain. I stared at Adams, trying to figure out what he was doing and what he had meant by his statement. Suddenly a great flash like lightening flew across my vision and I found that I was no longer looking at Adams but at a completely different person. My eyes widened with surprise. It was Ana Lucia, with tears in her eyes, sitting in her living room. Her hand was held out towards me. I realized with a start that I was looking into the past. Was Adams a time-traveler?

But no, for when I reached out my fingers to touch hers, they slipped right through, as if I were a ghost. Then that image disappeared and was replaced with a picture of pale white arms, strips of bright red across the left wrist. I watched slack-jawed as my thin hand came up holding that familiar bloody razor. I winced as I watched myself drag the sharp razor against the white wrist. A wet teardrop fell from somewhere above the bloody arm and mixed with the scarlet liquid. I realized then that Adams was not looking into my past; he was looking into my memories.

This made me grow angry. Of all the people in the universe, Connor was the last person I wanted to look through my memories. I struggled to close my mind to him but he just pushed harder. I suddenly regretted not paying attention in my Defense Against Attacks on the Mind course. But he was not really reading my mind, more like looking at snapshots of what I remembered of my past.

He was trying to hurt me by bringing up painful memories and parading them in front of me. I saw Ana Lucia and Lash, kissing passionately on her couch, oblivious to the sullen-eyed, black clothed boy watching in the doorway. I growled softly.

"Cut it out," I hissed to Adams.

I heard his voice as if from far away. "Make me, Newton."

The next scene showed Ana Lucia, telling me that her and Lash were going to start dating. Her face was glowing and she looked beautiful. My chest constricted, and I pushed against this invading presence in my head. I wanted him out! Suddenly the memories came fast and thick, so fast it hurt.

There was my mother lying pale and weak in the hospital bed. She took a shuddering breath and died, her hand held tightly in mine. There was Lash, telling me he couldn't care less about my mother. I had looked to him for comfort. He had reminded me so much of David. . . . There was the Social Worker, telling me I had to go into foster care or stay with my father. I exploded, screaming and making everyone grow angry and crazy.

There was the glass, biting sharply into my arm and drawing blood as I started my first cut, the red dripping down onto the filthy pavement. The black hopelessness and void I had felt came coursing back into me like a poison river.

There was my mother, sobbing hysterically when they came to tell us about David, that horrible inhuman scream that seemingly came from no where burning my ears. There was David, holding me close, saying that he would come back for me. There was my father, a broken bottle in his hand, David's face bleeding from the cut above his eye where the end of the bottle had shattered.

There was David, strong, comforting, and protective. He was standing in front of me, holding me behind him as my father ranted and raved, throwing his arms in the air in front of him. David's hand tightened around my wrist as he held me back. My father's fist came flying and knocked David to the ground. David didn't cry; he only looked at me, his lip bleeding. He was fourteen then.

There was my mother, crying loudly while my father beat someone I couldn't see, but I knew who it was. There were two small bare legs, the owner of them inspecting the bruises in the small, dirty bathroom. There was shouting, yelling, slapping, bruising, and cursing. Suddenly a face appeared, one that I did not recognize. It was a boy. He had deep scratches on his face. Tears streamed from his eyes and he was screaming. Then . . . nothing.

I passed out.

00000000

When I came to, Megan was the first person I saw. She was staring at me intensely. Like Chanel had, only Megan's scrutiny felt different, like she was scanning me for something. Maybe she was checking to make sure my powers were still strong. Whatever the reason was, she was making me uncomfortable. She reached out a dark hand and brushed her fingertips against my forehead, moving away the hair that partially covered my black lined eyes.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens," she said softly. I recoiled slightly from her touch. She smiled slowly. "There is no damage to your skills. You only need to learn how to use them more effectively for offense. You did well last time."

I struggled to sit up. "Why does everyone keep saying last time?" I asked, a bit moodily. "I don't even remember there being a last time."

"Of course not," she said, grinning, a set of white teeth flashing against dark, full lips. I tried not to be distracted by them. "We erased your memory. But no matter, since you obviously do not remember, someone will need to teach you. Both in your powers and in your physical attacks. If you would have rushed and tackled Adams, he would have released your mind."

I frowned at her obvious disregard for my mind. She spoke so nonchalantly about wiping my memory. I wondered if I had done anything else worth mentioning during my short visit. However when she mentioned training, I had to raise my eyebrows in interest. That actually wasn't a bad idea. But who would train me?

She must have noticed my curiosity for she flashed me that disarming smile again.

"I could teach you the basics of self defense, and I know someone who can teach you how to guard your mind from attacked like Adams."

I cringed inwardly at the thought of her spending one on one time with me. I thought of an alternative teacher.

"If you don't mind, I think that if I'm going to have a teacher, I'd rather it be Walker."

She frowned slightly. "Violet? Why her?"

I tried to think of a good reason. I didn't want to say it was because I didn't want to spend any more time around Megan then I had to. Man, why did she have to be so attractive? If it wasn't for Josh, I might be actually considering letting her teach me. Then I remembered Ana Lucia. Megan may be extremely attractive, even more so than Ana Lucia, but Ana Lucia had an inner beauty. Her compassion and strength shone through to me all the time and she was beautiful.

But even as I was thinking these great thoughts about Ana, the memory of her and Lash on the couch rose involuntarily into the front of my mind. I winced inwardly at the mental picture. I tried to think of something else then remembered that Megan was still waiting for an answer. I gave her the best one I came up with.

"I know her sister. Just think that maybe I can do better if I'm with someone I'm familiar with."

She nodded slowly. "I suppose I could arrange that then. Of course, always remember that I'll be here to help if you need it."

Then she gave me this look that almost made shivers run up my spine. I controlled myself just in time. I refused her to have that kind of hold over me. Besides, wasn't she Josh's girlfriend? I resisted the urge to draw back when she reached for my arm. She took it and turned it over, pushing up the long sleeve of the sweatshirt I wore. I started to pull my arm away, but she held on tight, like a vice.

She stared down at the scars Ana Lucia had not been able to heal. For a moment she simply stared at them. Then she reached out one dark finger and stroked the pale skin of my forearm, giving me goose bumps. I wished she would stop, but then I didn't. I was confused by the swirl of feelings that she was giving me. What was this? It couldn't be love for I was repulsed by this feeling as much as I was entranced by it.

"You'll need to start eating better," she said, examining the thinness of the limb she held. "You'd snap like a twig if anyone jumped you."

I was about to protest, saying that I was tougher than I appeared, when the door opened and Josh walked into the room. Megan dropped my arm quickly, almost too quickly it seemed. What was her deal? Josh didn't seem to notice. He walked right over and placed his arm around Megan's shoulder. She snuggled up to him and acted like she had never insinuated anything with me. I narrowed my eyes slightly.

"You doing okay, Alex?" He asked me in a friendly tone.

I shrugged, still confused by Megan's sudden change in interest. Josh sat down next to Megan's chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Well, I admit I expected more out of you. But Adams has a vendetta against you so I shouldn't wonder if he went unusually hard on you. It was stupid for Elridge to pair you two up."

I frowned. "Why does Adams hate me so much? People keep talking like I did something when I was here before but they just assume I remember. But thanks to you guys frying my memory, I don't remember a thing."

Wow, I don't think I've spoken that much in a long time. Megan just smirked at my little speech. To my surprise, Josh actually looked apologetic.

"Yeah, sorry about that. We had to because we weren't sure if you wanted to join or not. It was just a safety procedure."

I was unconvinced but didn't say anything more about it. Megan turned to Josh and told him what she had told me, about needing training. Josh thought Violet training me would be a good idea. They were just getting up to leave when I remembered the boy in my dream which I didn't recognize. I spoke up before Megan and Josh got to the door.

"While Adams was doing . . . whatever he was doing, I saw a boy I didn't recognize." I brought up the picture of him I had in my head, grimacing inwardly at the deep, bloody scratches and the expression of horror. His features were unlike any I had seen before so I figured these two must know who he is. "He had dark brown hair and very light blue eyes. His hair was kind of long and he had freckles."

I closed my eyes and concentrated on making the description as accurate as possible.

"He had . . . a mole . . . underneath his left eye." That had been hard to notice through the blood, but I didn't mention that part. "Long eyelashes, sort of a flat nose, his eyes were sorta slanted, like an Asian kid." I had thought that part was unusual. "White skin, but not pale. And an earring in his left ear." I opened my eyes. Both Josh and Megan's expressions remained impassive. "Is there anyone like that here?"

Josh looked surprised. "No, there isn't anyone here that looks like that. Maybe you're remembering someone from when you were younger, you know, too young to recognize them now."

Megan shook her head. "Sorry, I can't help you there."

I nodded, the image of the boy's face still engrained in my brain. I figured these two would know, but I wondered if Chanel knew about this boy. She seemed to know a lot about what was going on here.

"Classes start after lunch," Josh reminded me. "You'd better show up if you can. See ya around."

He turned and left. Megan stared at me for a moment (I resisted the urge to gag at her expression) and then left as well. I lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. All that talking and remembering had worn me out. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until lunch time. I figured I could skip. I wasn't looking forward to seeing Adams again. I shut my eyes and rolled over onto my side.

The boy's face came to me once more and I concentrated on my feelings. I had felt something when Adams had brought the memory to light. I realized I must have been in the training dome with this boy for I remember feeling swirling emotions of fear, horror, anger, pain, shock, confusion, and, strangely enough, desire, a desire to do . . . something that I couldn't remember, along with other emotions I could not distinguish. I could not think of anything else that might help me figure out who the boy was. I turned my thoughts to something else, my brain weary from the attack on it.

Reaching back, I picked out a memory Adams had not used against me. I assume that he saw it but didn't bring it forward because it was a memory I enjoyed and cherished in fact. The memory was so vivid I thought I could actually feel the bed dip and bounce slightly as a heavier body than mine lay beside me. I smiled slightly as the memory kept playing. The strong arm came around my shoulder; I clasped the large, calloused fingers. Warm breath caressed my ear.

"It's okay, baby brother." The deep reassuring voice echoed through my ear and into my mind. "We're going to be okay."

And stupidly I had believed him.

Thank you, all four of you, who have been so dedicated as to keep up with this story as I pull it out of the Depths of Despair. Your reviews keep me out of that dark, cold, unfeeling room called Writer's Block with its stacks of blank paper and ink-flowing pens that stare forlornly up at me while my inspiration runs off into the night, laughing at my distress. :-D So thank you Chad, Starsy Skye, BobbyLu, and Fantasmarific Amalia. :-P