“He’s so hot,” Candy squealed. “And so, so perfect.”
“Totally.” Veronica nodded, holding her hands out in front of her chest. “You guys have this perfect relationship.”
I glanced at the quiet one with brown hair and blond streaks. She said nothing as she picked at a small napkin.
“He’s been worried about you.” Candy tipped her head to the side, grinning. “You’re luckier than you realize.”
Lucky to be alive, or lucky to have such a great boyfriend?
Oddly enough, except for what Veronica said, no one talked about Cassie. I was sure they were avoiding the topic so I wouldn’t freak out. I appreciated that, especially considering I’d spent the bulk of last night going over all the terrible things that could’ve happened to us, but I wanted to know more about her.
When there was a lull in the conversation, I cleared my throat. “Did Cassie say anything before we…we went missing? Did she talk about plans?”
Veronica glanced down, sucking in her lip. “She really didn’t—”
“I think that’s enough for today, girls.” Mom appeared behind Veronica, smiling without showing any teeth. “Samantha needs her rest.”
“Mom,” I snapped, embarrassed to be treated like a small child. I pushed back, toppling over the bar stool, and stood. My knees shook, and my voice came out in just a whisper. “Mom…”
She shot a look around at the group of girls, who had paled under their fake bakes, and then grasped my hands, eyes wide. “What is it?”
My heart pounded irregularly. How could I explain it? I knew I’d snapped at my mom before like that. I’d felt that way before—frustrated, annoyed, and angry at her. The wash of familiarity when there’d been virtually nothing was dizzying. It wouldn’t be a big deal to anyone else, but to my empty brain it was epic.
“Samantha?”
Everyone was staring at me. Each face belonged to a stranger. There was no rushing flood of memories or even a spark of familiarity as Google and WebMD said there would be. I’d thoroughly searched the Internet on dissociative amnesia last night, and other than the fact that it was linked to traumatic events and mental illness—sweet—there was little information on how, or if, I’d get my memories back.
Hands shaking, I pulled them free of my mom’s and brushed my hair from my flaming cheeks. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
My unofficial welcome-back get-together was coming to a close. The girls gave me quick hugs and pecks on the cheek before filing outside to their respective BMWs. I wondered what kind of car I drove.
“What really happened?” Mom asked, following me through the many rooms to the smallest one on the main level—the family room. “Samantha, answer me.”
I sat down on the overstuffed couch. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just remembered getting…mad at you before, snapping at you. It caught me off guard.”
She stared at me for a moment, then knelt in front of me. I was surprised that she’d risk getting her linen pants dirty, but then she clasped my cheeks. Her hands were shaking. Tears built in her eyes. “I never thought I’d be happy to hear you remember being upset with me, but I am.”
My smile was wobbly. “Lame, huh?”
“No, it’s not lame, honey. It is progress.” She stood, brushing off her slacks. “But I do think you should take it easy this weekend.”
I arched a brow. “I was reading about it last night, and the articles said I should be around things that are familiar. That will spark my memory.”
“I don’t know. All of this is a lot to deal with.”
I took a deep breath, already knowing this was going to be a problem. “I want to go to school Monday. I have to. I need to.”
“It’s too soon.”
“I have to do something normal. Maybe it will help with my memories.”
She looked even more concerned. “Dr. Weston said you need to take things slow. It could be too much.”
“What damage could it do?” I threw up my arms, frustrated to my core. “Am I going to forget more? There isn’t anything else I can forget!”
“I don’t know.” Mom turned away, fiddling with the gold bangles on her wrists. “I’ve already spoken with the school. They said it’s okay if you stay home a week or so.”
In that moment, I learned something new about myself. I didn’t have any patience. Jumping to my feet, I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m going to school on Monday.”
“Samantha, I really—”
“What’s going on in here?” Dad walked in, pulling off white golfing gloves as he bent and kissed my cheek. “It sounds like old times.”
I tried not to be skeeved by the chaste kiss. He was my dad. No reason to be freaked out. Mom turned on him, and the blood drained from her pretty face. Okay, maybe I should be skeeved out. I stepped to the side, nervous and unsure.
“What are you doing wearing those shoes in the house?” Her voice was shrill, hurting my ears. “You’ll scratch the floors. Again!”
Dad laughed. “The floors will be fine. No one cares if they’re scratched or not.”
“I do!” Mom protested. “What would our friends think if they saw them?”
He rolled his eyes. “I think you are the only person I know who’d be ashamed over the condition of their floors. Anyway, what’s going on?”
She huffed as she eyed him. “Your daughter wants to go to school on Monday.”
He slapped his gloves into one hand, causing me to jump a little. “Joanna, if that’s what she wants to do, then we shouldn’t stop her.”
“But—”
“So I can?” I rushed on, hopeful.
She looked between the two of us and sighed heavily. “Two against one, I see. Some things never change.” And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
“Don’t worry, honey. Your mother is just concerned about everything.” He sat, patting the space beside him. I followed suit, clasping my hands together. “She’s been beside herself with worry. We thought…”
“That I was dead?”
He blanched and swallowed. “At first your mother thought you might have run away, and she was so upset. You know how she is.” A puzzled look crossed his face, and then he shook his head. “Actually, you don’t. She was worried that Cassie might’ve talked you into doing something like that, and if so, gossip would spread all over the place. I just wanted my little girl back, especially after we began to think the worse.”
Was Mom more concerned about what her friends might think? Either way, I still couldn’t imagine what my parents must’ve thought. “I want to remember.”
“I know.” He patted my knee.
“No. See.” I dug out the photo of Cassie and me from my jean pocket. “I need to remember.”
My dad swallowed again. “Do you…do you remember her?”
I shook my head. Nothing about her face or how she draped her arm over my shoulders was familiar. Hell, my own face in the picture was strange to me, even the freckles spotting my nose. Cassie had freckles, too, but on her cheeks.
“But she could still be out there, wherever I was. She could be hurt or...” I turned the picture over, looking up, meeting his eyes. “If I remember, I could find her.”
“Honey, the police searched most of the state park and haven’t found anything.”
“Maybe she’s somewhere else. No one knows if I…walked there. That’s the first thing I remember. Walking,” I told him. “Maybe I walked from somewhere else.”
“That’s a good point, but don’t force yourself.” He smiled as he stood, gloves dangling from his hand. “And if you don’t ever remember, then it’s not your fault. Okay?”
I nodded absently. Dad left after that. I went up the flights of stairs and placed the picture on my desk. Going into the bathroom, I reached to turn the faucet on but had forgotten it was one of those hand-motion-activated ones. Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand under the tap, and the water kicked on. After washing my face, I examined it again. I’d been doing that a lot, hoping that something would click. It hadn’t yet.
I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes. I blinked twice when I reopened them. The bathroom light was off. Had I accidentally done that? I didn’t remember hitting the switch on the wall. Backing up, I glanced out into my bedroom and swallowed hard.
I was under stress, and stress could make you do things absently. That sounded like a good theory, and I was going to go with it.
Heart pounding in my chest, I dropped onto my bed and stared at the plastic stars lining the ceiling. Last night I had learned they glowed.
I liked that.
Did I like them before, or did I think they were stupid? There was no answer. Nothing had an answer. I rolled onto my side and pulled my legs up, tucking them against my chest. Cassie. Her name had haunted me like a sad, strange melody ever since those officers left the hospital room. Could she be out there, not knowing who she was and in a different hospital? Scott had said Cassie and I fought a lot, but that was what friends did…or at least I thought they did. And I sounded like a real tyrant anyway—so bitchy that even Carson didn’t like me. Hell, my own brother seemed afraid of me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced my mind to go blank. Which shouldn’t have been that hard, but I kept seeing this set of vibrant blue eyes rimmed in black. Ridiculous. I took a deep, calming breath and pictured Cassie’s face. Obviously she was the last person I was with. What had we been doing? Movies? Partying? Just hanging out and talking?
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, staring at the delicate music box with a little ballerina curved to the side, one leg bent at a ninety-degree angle. Was I a ballerina? Somehow I doubted that. Sighing, I rolled over, shoving my face into the pillow.
Something crinkled underneath it.
Pushing up, I tugged the pillow away. Tucked halfway under the blanket was a piece of yellow paper folded into a triangle. Positive that it hadn’t been there this morning, I pulled the slip of paper out and slowly unfolded it.
My breath caught and I dropped the letter, scuttling back on the bed. Pulse racing, I closed my eyes, but I could still see the words.
Don’t look back. You won’t like what you find.
Chapter four
Jumping off the bed, I raced into the hallway and smacked right into my brother.
“Whoa!” Scott grabbed my shoulders, steadying me before I toppled over. He grinned. “Slow down.”
I gasped as I stared up at him, trying to catch my breath. “There’s…there’s this…”
The grin faded from his face. “There’s what, Sam?” When I didn’t answer, he shook me gently. “What are you trying to say?”
Snapping out of my panic, I pulled free from his grasp. “There’s a note under my pillow!”
“What?” He brushed past me, heading for my bedroom.
I trailed behind him, stopping at the door as he approached my bed and picked up the note as if it were a venomous snake.
“‘Don’t look back. You won’t like what you find.’ Are you shitting me?” He turned, holding the letter up. “Who’s been up here, Sam?”
“I don’t know. No one that I know...” I stopped. I didn’t know anyone.
“Maybe one of your friends roamed off or something?”
A horrible thought struck me. “My…my friends stopped over this morning. A couple of them left the kitchen to use the bathroom.” I frowned. “Veronica left, like, three times.”
“They were the only ones in the house.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at the childish writing. “This looks…I don’t know. It had to be one of them.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. They were supposed to be my friends, and even though I didn’t remember them, I didn’t want to believe one of them had left that note. “But based on that theory, you’ve been home, too. You could’ve done it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Good point, but come on. It’s a stupid joke.” Stalking to the desk, he balled the paper up.
“What are you doing?” I moved to intercept him, but he tossed it in the trash. “Why did you throw it away? It’s…like, evidence.”
“Evidence? Someone is messing with you.” He folded his arms, scowling. “And I’d be more than willing to bet that it’s one of your stupid friends.”
“My friends aren’t stupid.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t remember your friends.”
“Good point.” I plopped down on the edge of my bed. “But why would someone leave a note like that? I mean, it isn’t funny. It’s…it’s more like a warning.”
Scott hesitated. “Sam…it’s a joke.”
I glanced at the trash bin. It didn’t feel like a joke. A shiver rolled through me. From my perspective, it was a clear warning. A threat, a voice whispered in the back of my mind.
“Look, you’ve been through a lot.” Scott cleared his throat, looking away when I turned to him. “I honestly can’t even imagine how it feels to not have a freaking clue who you are, but don’t let those girls mess with you.”
“I’m not.” I felt the need to defend myself.
“And I really don’t think you should tell Mom and Dad about this. They’d freak and never let you out of this house.”