Chapter 17

Several days later, Molly was staring at an empty house waiting for Tom to arrive. In the end, she had decided not to go, as she was tired most of the time from the pain killers she was taking for her ribs and leg. The bruises were slowly disappearing from her body and the cuts were healing. However, her memory still had not made a comeback, and she was left in a constant state of confusion as people alluded to her supposed former life in this world.

However, signs of her were apparent through the house. There were a few photos of her with black hair, styled in the eighties sense of horrible (though it wasn't as horrible as it was now) and the room that had been hers was still intact. Molly hadn't found much to go on in the room however and was now sitting at a dead end in her recovery. There were no triggers here. How was she supposed to remember anything?

Molly heard the sound of the front door opening but did not move from her bed, where she was sitting. Alex had told her that Tom had acquired his own key some time ago and would watch the house for them while they were away. She heard him call her name but didn't reply. Tom made her uncomfortable. When he looked at her, there was a look in his eyes that she didn't understand. And he wasn't trying to look at her like that. She knew that he wasn't even aware he was doing it. But there was such a passion in that look that she couldn't look back.

She heard him walking up the stairs and knew that he was coming to find her. She had been hiding in her room since she had returned to Alex's house, unable to hang around Gene and Alex, slightly irritated by them. They acted like teenagers around each other, always engaging in playful banter that more often than not ended up in Alex slapping Gene lightly on the back of the head and him glaring at her playfully.

There was a knock on the wall next to her door. Molly looked up to see Tom standing in her doorway.

"Hey, Molls," he said, giving her that look.

"Hey," she said quietly, wishing he would look away, and that he wouldn't call her Molls. Only people she knew could call her that.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. The pain isn't as bad as it was."

"Good," he said. "Anything on the memory front?"

Molly shook her head ruefully. "Same as the day I came. There's not even a flicker."

Tom looked at the floor uncomfortably. "I had an idea, if you wanted to try it?"

"What's that?"

"You never really lived here. Your dad picked you up the night you and Alex moved into the house."

Alex had already informed Molly of the story they used to cover the fact she was from the future.

"So if I didn't live here, where did I live?"

"You lived in a flat above my uncle's restaurant. We can't go there now, because there's a new tenant, but we can go to his restaurant and back to the house that we live in."

"I lived there?"

"For a little over a week or so. It's not much, but it's longer than you lived here."

Molly thought about it for a moment and then nodded to her leg which was immobilised. "What will we do about this?"

Tom grinned. "I can drive now. I've got my little scrap heap parked out front. If you want to hop in, we can slowly drive through the car park of rush hour London."

Molly grinned. She may not remember him, but he made good analogies. "Sure. Sounds good." She grabbed her crutches and slowly made her way downstairs.

"Don't fall down the stairs," Tom remarked dryly, seeing her struggle. "The last thing we need is you to end up with another bump on your head."

"That might restore my memory," she joked.

"That's true!" Tom said thoughtfully. "Here, I'll just give you a push."

Molly got to the landing and turned around. "See, I can make it."

Tom just held up his hands. "Next time, then."

Molly said nothing, struggling to his car.

They drove across the city in an awkward silence. Molly knew why. Tom had no idea how to deal with her, and she had no idea with him either. This would be so much easier if her bloody memory would return! She knew that wishing wouldn't make it just return. She needed a trigger, something she was hoping to find at Tom's house.

Finally, they arrived at a small, slightly shabby house.

"Careful," Tom said as she approached the steps. Molly stopped and looked at him. "Sorry. It's just... the first time we met you fell and hit your head on the steps."

"Didn't lose my memory that time, did I?" she asked bitterly.

"Nope. You were out for a while though. That's where you got that scar on your forehead."

Molly had noticed the scar a few days earlier, wondering what had caused it, but said nothing, figuring it was just something she'd forgotten from the real world.

They walked up the steps to the door and Tom let her in. "It hasn't been updated since you left. Everything's exactly the same."

Molly said nothing, staring at the house, willing something to pop out to her. Nothing did however. She walked through the kitchen and into the room with the television, where a boy of sixteen or seventeen was sitting, watching it. He had dark brown hair and grey eyes. The boy looked up as they entered the room.

"Who's this?" he asked. "She's a bit old to be bringing in, isn't she?"

Tom smiled. "Ethan, this is Molly."

Ethan's eyes widened and he dropped the remote. "Molly?" he asked in disbelief.

She nodded. Ethan looked at Tom. "Does she...?" He trailed off as Tom shook his head.

"Ah. Well..." he said awkwardly. "My name's Ethan, like Tom said. Err..."

"Good to meet you Ethan," she said quietly. "Again...I guess..."

He grinned.

"Are any of the others here?" Tom asked.

"Everyone is. Ella and Charlie are putting a puzzle together with Kate, I think and Jimmy's out pretending he's the star of Arsenal."

"Right. Do you want to go meet them Molly?"

Molly didn't hear him. Something had caught her eye. A piece of paper had been framed and hung on the wall by the doorway. She moved over there and started looking at it. It was a drawing of six people sitting at a table in a restaurant. They were obviously in some sort of raucous conversation, three of the faces thrown back laughing, two grinning and one boy looking disgruntled. One of the people had a fork halfway to his mouth and another was holding a breadstick across her mouth like a moustache.

"Tom'll look like this when he's older," a voice said calling from deep within her. "Ah, bella. Do you-uh wanta some ofa my pasta?"

There was a roar of laughter and the memory faded. Molly continued to stare at the picture, willing more to come through.

"Molly?" Tom asked.

She pointed to the faces. "Charlie," she murmured, pointing to the girl with the breadstick across her lip. "And that one's Jimmy. Kate, Ella, Ethan, and Tom."

Tom stared at her a moment. "That's exactly right." His face broke out in a wide grin. "Molly! You remembered something!"

She grinned excitedly. "Do you have anymore?"

"I've better than that. I completely forgot. Come with me!"

Molly followed Tom up the stairs, Ethan shouting behind them. Tom entered a room that had two beds in it. Tom went under one bed, pulling out a box and opening it. He pulled out a satchel and pulled a notebook out of it. "Both are yours. But when your mum allowed me the notebook, I couldn't take one without the other."

Molly looked at the bag, staring at it. It seemed a bit familiar. She took the notebook and opened it up, seeing her signature staring back at her.

Molly Drake
Age 15
1983, 1984

She studied the drawings in the notebook, each one seeming familiar, but none stirring a memory like the one from the sitting room. She put it down in disappointment, looking up to see a group of people staring at her hopefully.

Molly grinned. "I didn't know I'd attract such an audience."

"Did you get anything?" Tom asked.

Molly shook her head. "Just a feeling of familiarity. But that's better than how it's been."

"I'm glad you've remembered something," said a ginger girl she immediately placed as Ella.

"Me too," she said truthfully. "Even names are better than nothing."

"That means it'll come back," Tom said.

Molly laughed. "Possibly. The mind's a funny thing."

"Oi. Don't ruin our hope, cinica signorigna."

"Tom. Will you shut up with the Italian?" a blonde boy she knew as Jimmy asked.

"Never. Cause now I know it annoys you," he said, grinning.

They argued good naturedly for a while until Kate put a stop to it. "Why don't we all go to Luigi's and celebrate?" she asked.

This was met with a cheer. Tom looked at her. "What do you say, Felicitá?" he asked.

"Why not?" she said and the group cheered once more.

~(*)~

Several hours later, Molly fell into her bed, completely worn out. Today was more than she'd exerted herself since she had arrived in this world. Nothing more had sparked a memory, something which disappointed her more than people realised. She felt like the odd one out, but at the same time, like people were staring at her. They were all waiting expectantly for her to remember them, but it made her head hurt to try. Not for the first time, she wished for a key to her mind so that she would be able to unlock the memories that were kept away.

Molly kept thinking about the memory that had surfaced earlier that night. She played it over and over in her head, trying to think if she had been doing anything special at that point. As much as she tried, she couldn't think of what she had done.

She decided to flip through the notebook once more, looking for anything that triggered a memory. She studied each picture carefully, but nothing rang a bell. Frustrated, Molly threw the notebook across the room. If her drawings wouldn't trigger a bloody memory, then what could?

Molly sighed. This was pointless. She was just going to have to relearn everything and live without the four or whatever years of memories she seemed to be missing. Hell, she didn't even know how old she was anymore. She knew that she was older than fourteen, but how much? She and Alex had decided to go with eighteen, since that would be her age in this world, but it would be nice to know if she was really eighteen or not.

There was a knock at her door. "Come in," Molly sighed.

Tom opened the door and stepped in the room. He was staying with her to make sure she was okay. Gene and her mum had converted the spare bedroom on this level to a guest bedroom where Tom was staying.

"You doing okay, Molly?"

She nodded. "Just frustrated."

"I understand that."

No, you don't, Molly thought bitterly. You try waking up without a memory. See what you think about that. She said nothing, however and they sat in an awkward silence.

"Do you...err... want some tea?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Oh. Okay. Well...if you need anything, let me know," he said scratching his head awkwardly.

Molly nodded, feeling bad for making him feel so out of place. He gave her a small smile and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sighing, she changed into pyjamas, even though it wasn't quite eleven at night. She was tired enough to sleep for a week.

Molly lay down on the bed, suddenly wide awake. Of course this would happen! Her thoughts would race for the next hour now. She sighed, thinking about grabbing her notebook to flip though it again when a sudden pain ripped through her chest. It felt like she had been electrified.

The world was starting to go dark around her, but she heard a voice shouting through the blackness.

"We're losing her! Hang on Molly! Hang on!"

Another jolt of electricity. Tears were streaming down Molly's face with the pain that was coursing through her body.

"It's not doing any good. Molly, can you hear me? Molly?"

The world went black.