~Chapter 4~
He stood in front of the large living room window, a cup of warm coffee in his left hand as he watched a snowball fight take place between the family that saved his life. He wondered, as he watched them, if he had a family like theirs somewhere. He tried to remember something, anything that would help him figure out what had happened to him. He found it hard to feel anything, emotionally that is. He had nothing to reflect on, no memories to pick apart, he felt helpless. He felt like he was wandering around in a dark room, trying to find the door that would allow him to escape. But the harder he tried the more he stumbled, and the more he stumbled, the more frustrated he got.
He didn’t know much about the people that took him in, not much besides their names. He was gradually starting to trust them, because he knew if they really wanted to hurt him, they would have already done so.
He laughed softly when the little four-year-old, he came to know as Emma, tackled her father into the snow. She giggled as he father tickled her as punishment.
He suddenly felt uneasy and swayed a little bit to the left as his vision became blurry. He dropped the cup of coffee he was holding and leaned against the wall. Another small vision took over his blank mind.
~Flashback~
He sat on the bench outside of the ice arena. His bulky bag of hockey equipment at his side as his feet swung over the side of the bench, not quite touching the ground. He watched as his friends got into their cars with their families, going home to eat dinner and talk about the well played game.
It was the first game that he had scored a goal, the first game that he accomplished his dream as a child. He wanted to hear the roar of the crowd when he put that puck into the net, and he did. But the one thing he wanted more than anything was for his father to be there when he finally put a point up on that scoreboard. That dream, it was shot down before it could even take flight.
He looked up when a silver BMW pulled up to the curb, the horn sounded a few times as the passenger window automatically rolled down. William Vaughn leaned over the arm rest and looked at his son from where he sat.
“Hey, buddy! Get in!” His father said with a smile on his face.
Vaughn just sat there, his eyes slowly falling to the pavement under his short little legs. He knew what his father was trying to do. He was trying to play it off as if it weren’t a big deal, trying to slip by unnoticed, but Vaughn knew better.
He heard a car door shut and the sound of his fathers shoes coming towards him. William got closer to his son, and took a knee in front of him.
“Michael, I’m sorry I missed your game. Something came up at….”
”….Work? I know dad.” He finished his fathers sentence, he knew the excuses like the back of his hand.
William sighed.
“I scored my first goal tonight. Jimmy passed me the puck, and I scored.” He told his father.
His father looked down for a moment.
“I’ll be there next time, I promise.” He said. Vaughn was about to say something but his father put a hand out.
”I promise, son.”
Vaughn just stared at the ground. Knowing that promise would be broken, just like the rest. It was only a matter of time.
“Michael?” His father said, trying to get his attention.
“Michael?”
~End Flashback~
“Michael? Can you hear me?”
He blinked a few times and finally realized where he was once again. Sydney stood in front of him, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened to him. He found himself uncomfortable under her worried stare, and looked at the ground. The clay coffee cup was now in pieces on the floor, the hot brown liquid running in different directions across the hard oak surface. He immediately bent down and started to pick up the small pieces of glass.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
She walked to the kitchen and came back with a dish towel. She bent down in front of him and started to wipe up the coffee. She looked up at him.
“Where were you?” She asked.
She knew that he went somewhere in his head, because when she came down the stairs and saw him, he looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
“What do you mean?” He asked picking up the broken pieces of glass. She soaked up all the coffee and dropped the towel on the floor.
“You looked like you saw a ghost. Are you remembering things?” She asked. He sighed and looked down.
“If you want too call it that.” He said.
”What do you mean?” She asked him. He stopped picking up the glass and looked up into her eyes.
”I have these visions. It feels like…like I’m dreaming while I’m awake. It’s like I’m watching a movie in my mind, and I can’t stop it.” He told her.
She stared at him, surprised.
“Oh…so…do you remember something?” She asked. He shook his head softly and bit the inside of his cheek.
“Just little parts, nothing I can decipher. It’s like putting together a puzzle, and none of the pieces are meant to fit together.” He said. She took the towel off the floor and stood up.
"I'll take that." She said nodding toward the glass he held in his hand. He stood up and handed off the glass to her. She walked into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his thick, messey hair.
"Shi*!"
He heard her yell from the kitchen. He walked over to the doorway and saw her standing over the garbage, looking at her hand.
"You okay?" He asked softly. She didn't look at him.
"Yeah, just a cut." She said. She sighed and grabbed a paper towel. She pushed it into the palm of her hand to stop the bleeding. He walked over to her.
"Can i see?" He asked. She looked up at him breifly, then held out her hand. She opened her palm to show the fairly deep cut on the inside of her hand.
"That looks pretty bad." He said.
"I'll be okay." She said closing her palm again. He took her hand and forced it open.
"It'll bleed more if you hold it shut, cause you're putting pressure on it." He dabbed the cut with the papertowel.
"Just...hold it like that, just for a second." He said. He let go of her hand and walked over to the table. He grabbed the bottle of glue that sat forgotten with the markers and coloring book. He walked back over to her as he opened the cap. He took her hand again and was about to pour it on her cut.
"Wait, what are you doing?" She asked pulling her hand away slightly. He looked up at her.
"Don't worry." He told her. He pointed to the label.
"Non-toxic."
She couldn't help but smile at him. He took her hand again and wiped the blood away. He squezzed some crazy glue onto her cut so it covered the open skin. He set the bottle on the counter.
"Where did you learn this?" She asked.
"I don't know." He said. He brought her hand up closer to his face and started to blow on her hand to make the glue dry faster. She stared at him as he examined it.
"Alright, just try not to touch it. It'll stop the bleeding, then you can put something over it." He said. She wasn't as concerned about her hand.
"I don't understand how you remember all of this useless information, but you can't remember your past." She said. He looked down.
"I don't understand either." He said looking at his feet.
"I can tell you that i can sprint two miles straight before i start to lose the feeling in my hands and feet. I can tell you that the most likely place to find a gun in here is behind that painting above the fireplace in the living room. And i can tell you the license plate numbers of all three cars out in your driveway, but i can't tell you who i am or what i do. Now if that's not messed up then what is?" He asked.
She bit her lip and dropped her hand to her side.
"You'll remember, sooner or later." She said. He nodded softly. A blanket of silence fell over them.
"I'm gonna head back outside, you want to join us out there?" She asked. He shook his head.
"Nah, i don't think so." He said. She nodded and gave him a weak smile.
"Thanks, by the way." She said. She walked out of the kitchen, leaving him drowining in his own thoughts. He heard the front door close and proceded to walk back to the livingroom window. He watched her as she ran around the yard, enjoying the time she had with her family. And he wondered once again, if somewhere out there, someone like her, was waiting for him.
He stood in front of the large living room window, a cup of warm coffee in his left hand as he watched a snowball fight take place between the family that saved his life. He wondered, as he watched them, if he had a family like theirs somewhere. He tried to remember something, anything that would help him figure out what had happened to him. He found it hard to feel anything, emotionally that is. He had nothing to reflect on, no memories to pick apart, he felt helpless. He felt like he was wandering around in a dark room, trying to find the door that would allow him to escape. But the harder he tried the more he stumbled, and the more he stumbled, the more frustrated he got.
He didn’t know much about the people that took him in, not much besides their names. He was gradually starting to trust them, because he knew if they really wanted to hurt him, they would have already done so.
He laughed softly when the little four-year-old, he came to know as Emma, tackled her father into the snow. She giggled as he father tickled her as punishment.
He suddenly felt uneasy and swayed a little bit to the left as his vision became blurry. He dropped the cup of coffee he was holding and leaned against the wall. Another small vision took over his blank mind.
~Flashback~
He sat on the bench outside of the ice arena. His bulky bag of hockey equipment at his side as his feet swung over the side of the bench, not quite touching the ground. He watched as his friends got into their cars with their families, going home to eat dinner and talk about the well played game.
It was the first game that he had scored a goal, the first game that he accomplished his dream as a child. He wanted to hear the roar of the crowd when he put that puck into the net, and he did. But the one thing he wanted more than anything was for his father to be there when he finally put a point up on that scoreboard. That dream, it was shot down before it could even take flight.
He looked up when a silver BMW pulled up to the curb, the horn sounded a few times as the passenger window automatically rolled down. William Vaughn leaned over the arm rest and looked at his son from where he sat.
“Hey, buddy! Get in!” His father said with a smile on his face.
Vaughn just sat there, his eyes slowly falling to the pavement under his short little legs. He knew what his father was trying to do. He was trying to play it off as if it weren’t a big deal, trying to slip by unnoticed, but Vaughn knew better.
He heard a car door shut and the sound of his fathers shoes coming towards him. William got closer to his son, and took a knee in front of him.
“Michael, I’m sorry I missed your game. Something came up at….”
”….Work? I know dad.” He finished his fathers sentence, he knew the excuses like the back of his hand.
William sighed.
“I scored my first goal tonight. Jimmy passed me the puck, and I scored.” He told his father.
His father looked down for a moment.
“I’ll be there next time, I promise.” He said. Vaughn was about to say something but his father put a hand out.
”I promise, son.”
Vaughn just stared at the ground. Knowing that promise would be broken, just like the rest. It was only a matter of time.
“Michael?” His father said, trying to get his attention.
“Michael?”
~End Flashback~
“Michael? Can you hear me?”
He blinked a few times and finally realized where he was once again. Sydney stood in front of him, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened to him. He found himself uncomfortable under her worried stare, and looked at the ground. The clay coffee cup was now in pieces on the floor, the hot brown liquid running in different directions across the hard oak surface. He immediately bent down and started to pick up the small pieces of glass.
“I’m sorry.” He said.
She walked to the kitchen and came back with a dish towel. She bent down in front of him and started to wipe up the coffee. She looked up at him.
“Where were you?” She asked.
She knew that he went somewhere in his head, because when she came down the stairs and saw him, he looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
“What do you mean?” He asked picking up the broken pieces of glass. She soaked up all the coffee and dropped the towel on the floor.
“You looked like you saw a ghost. Are you remembering things?” She asked. He sighed and looked down.
“If you want too call it that.” He said.
”What do you mean?” She asked him. He stopped picking up the glass and looked up into her eyes.
”I have these visions. It feels like…like I’m dreaming while I’m awake. It’s like I’m watching a movie in my mind, and I can’t stop it.” He told her.
She stared at him, surprised.
“Oh…so…do you remember something?” She asked. He shook his head softly and bit the inside of his cheek.
“Just little parts, nothing I can decipher. It’s like putting together a puzzle, and none of the pieces are meant to fit together.” He said. She took the towel off the floor and stood up.
"I'll take that." She said nodding toward the glass he held in his hand. He stood up and handed off the glass to her. She walked into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his thick, messey hair.
"Shi*!"
He heard her yell from the kitchen. He walked over to the doorway and saw her standing over the garbage, looking at her hand.
"You okay?" He asked softly. She didn't look at him.
"Yeah, just a cut." She said. She sighed and grabbed a paper towel. She pushed it into the palm of her hand to stop the bleeding. He walked over to her.
"Can i see?" He asked. She looked up at him breifly, then held out her hand. She opened her palm to show the fairly deep cut on the inside of her hand.
"That looks pretty bad." He said.
"I'll be okay." She said closing her palm again. He took her hand and forced it open.
"It'll bleed more if you hold it shut, cause you're putting pressure on it." He dabbed the cut with the papertowel.
"Just...hold it like that, just for a second." He said. He let go of her hand and walked over to the table. He grabbed the bottle of glue that sat forgotten with the markers and coloring book. He walked back over to her as he opened the cap. He took her hand again and was about to pour it on her cut.
"Wait, what are you doing?" She asked pulling her hand away slightly. He looked up at her.
"Don't worry." He told her. He pointed to the label.
"Non-toxic."
She couldn't help but smile at him. He took her hand again and wiped the blood away. He squezzed some crazy glue onto her cut so it covered the open skin. He set the bottle on the counter.
"Where did you learn this?" She asked.
"I don't know." He said. He brought her hand up closer to his face and started to blow on her hand to make the glue dry faster. She stared at him as he examined it.
"Alright, just try not to touch it. It'll stop the bleeding, then you can put something over it." He said. She wasn't as concerned about her hand.
"I don't understand how you remember all of this useless information, but you can't remember your past." She said. He looked down.
"I don't understand either." He said looking at his feet.
"I can tell you that i can sprint two miles straight before i start to lose the feeling in my hands and feet. I can tell you that the most likely place to find a gun in here is behind that painting above the fireplace in the living room. And i can tell you the license plate numbers of all three cars out in your driveway, but i can't tell you who i am or what i do. Now if that's not messed up then what is?" He asked.
She bit her lip and dropped her hand to her side.
"You'll remember, sooner or later." She said. He nodded softly. A blanket of silence fell over them.
"I'm gonna head back outside, you want to join us out there?" She asked. He shook his head.
"Nah, i don't think so." He said. She nodded and gave him a weak smile.
"Thanks, by the way." She said. She walked out of the kitchen, leaving him drowining in his own thoughts. He heard the front door close and proceded to walk back to the livingroom window. He watched her as she ran around the yard, enjoying the time she had with her family. And he wondered once again, if somewhere out there, someone like her, was waiting for him.
