Monochrome (29 page)

“Good. Because I want you to know I loved that it was you with me tonight.”
He wrung his hands, trying and failing to meet her eyes. “I want to kiss you now.” She grinned and leaned in to reassure him.

Jason took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was soft but lingering, and very passionate. He pulled away and Abigail pulled him back in and kissed him more firmly. His hands ran down her hair and over her back. This time when he pulled away, she let him.

There would be time to take him in. “I should go in now.”

“Sweet dreams.”

She winked. “They will be.”

She wasn’t certain her legs were up to the task of standing, but she managed to walk into her house, fall onto her bed, and not sleep at all. Her thoughts were too pleasant for sleep.

Geoff didn’t pause. He knew if he did, she wouldn’t have the energy to continue. Like a true nurse, he ripped the Band-Aid off quickly. He took the memory of their first time together—Jason’s careful touch, and shaking hands caressing her, his lean, graceful body leaning into her, and a whispered admission of love.

The next memory was of Jason’s marriage proposal. Gone was the terrified Jason standing by the window in the Space Needle. Gone were his nervous fingers as he opened the ring box and offered a beautiful and simple white gold ring to her.

Gone were his sincere words, “I don’t want anybody else but you. I want you to be in my life. Forever.”

Her quivering body and their long kiss were taken from her, along with her whispered, “Yes.”

Their wedding day was next. Abigail cried out in pain as Jason’s sincere, “I do” was ripped from her, the way he stared at her when she walked down the aisle, how tightly he held her for their first dance as a married couple. Their honeymoon to the mountains was gone in a heartbeat. The eager passion, their daring swim in a frigid lake, the feeling of security and total happiness in another person, all gone.

Her body shook from exhaustion as Geoff extracted the memory of their first place together, all crown molding and old creaky floors. Next, was the memory of Jason’s face when she told him she was pregnant with Ruby. She’d married the right man. His joy was palpable—it shown through the light in his eyes and the way he whispered the words, “I’m going to be a dad?” Pure awe.

Geoff shifted his focus and took the memory of her father asking her to come live with him in Washington. Abigail shook uncontrollably as the memory of that life-changing phone call was taken from her. The next memory was even more difficult. She and her father were driving around town, seeking out the best Christmas lights. The memory took from her his childlike wonder, his excitement as he pointed out the most impressive houses.

It took from her his admission, “I do this every year. I know it’s corny, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her response was stolen from her with force, “I remember when we were little, when you were still close. I remember searching for lights with you. It’is one of my clearest memories.”

Her father’s joy was taken from her, the glow of rainbow lights fading with it. She fought Geoff against the last memory, but she was too tired. Apologetic tears wet his face as he took the memory of her holding her father’s cooling hand in the hospital room where he was to die:

Her dad stared up at her with the type of adoration reserved for holy things. When she ushered her family out of the hospital room, demanding he rest, he reached for her.

She took his hand and he whispered, “I love you and am so proud of you.” It wasn’t the words that were so important; it was the fervor in his hazel eyes and trembling voice. His eyes searched her face, trying to transmit feelings beyond words.

The sincerity and fear in his face confused her. He seemed to be doing better today, and she’d see him tomorrow. She didn’t realize he was saying goodbye.

She kissed him. “I love you, too, Daddy. Get some sleep. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

He didn’t nod, he didn’t say anything. He just stared after her as she left the room, his hand still reaching for her, his body shouting his adoration and loss.

She wouldn’t see him alive again. Like it was never there, the memory was gone. Abigail stared dumbly at the cement ceiling of her cell, black eyes dry. Her heart ached and her body lay limp on the cot. She closed her eyes and fell asleep to Geoff patting her head and whispering, “I’m so sorry” over and over again.

She didn’t wake when he delivered her memories to his boss half an hour later. She didn’t wake as he carried her to Ishmael’s cell.

She didn’t wake to Ishmael’s screams, “What did you do to her, you motherfucker?!”

She didn’t wake when Geoff whispered, “I’m so sorry” again, but to Ishmael this time.

She didn’t wake as Ishmael lay her down on his cot, kissed her sleeping lips, and sat next to the cot, waiting for her eyes to open.

When she did wake up, she awoke to Ishmael sleeping, his head on the cot. She shifted to get more comfortable, and her gentle movement startled him. It took him a short time to focus and remember his situation, but when he did, he stood and gathered her in a tight hug. “Oh, Abby, you liar! Why didn’t you just go?! I told you to leave.”

She squeaked in pain over his embrace and he let her go, apologizing. He held her out and scrutinized her in the dim light and shook his head. “What happened to your arms? They’re all gouged and scratched.” His face was ghostly, “Did Geoff do this?”

She didn’t speak. She just shook her head and tried not to think of Geoff.

She sat up and made room for Ishmael on the large cot, patting it. Her arms burned as they fought to heal. He sat next to her, resting a hand on her leg. “Did Eric come to your cell? Did he do this to you?” His voice hatred personified.

Abigail touched his hand. “I tried to take some jars from the boss’s collection. I slipped when I ran from the room, and they shattered and cut me.”

His eyes went platter wide. “You tried to take memory jars? Are you crazy?”

She shrugged. It was challenging to feel anything but tired right now. “Eric’s and yours.”

“What? They broke? What happened? To the memories?” The questions came out so quickly it was hard to understand them, but she got the gist.

“I collected them. Inadvertently. The boss sent me to my own cell, away from you and Eric, so Geoff could get them back.” She spoke in a monotone, too empty to express anything other than weariness.

His eyes were still so wide they seemed ready to fall out of his head, and for the first time she registered something outside of her emptiness. “Oh, Ishmael, your eyes! They’re black again.”

Ishmael searched his hands, rather than speak to her face. “I had payment taken from me. Weirdly enough, they let me keep my memories of you. I’m not sure what they took, but…”

He paused, shakily. “I know they were of my mother and of Katie May because those were the only ones left.”

Abigail reached out and grabbed his hand. “Katie has auburn hair?”

Ishmael nearly jumped off the cot. “What? How did you know?”

She traced his fingers. “She’s beautiful. She has big eyes and a genuine glow. She’s sweet, and she loved you.”

He stuttered but found no words. She continued, “You look like your mom, you know. You have the same eyes. She must’ve lived a rough life, but she loved you, too. You have something to live for, Ishmael. You just can’t remember what it is.”

He gaped. “I don’t remember my mother well, and I don’t have any good memories left of Katie now. Just the memory of her leaving me, telling me I needed to grow up and learn to commit. I remember my mother dying, but I don’t remember why I loved her. I only remember her being taken from me as a kid. She was too high to take care of me most of the time. I know we lived together again, but I don’t have many memories of it. They must’ve been good. The normal times were good. But the bad times were terrible, and I have more bad memories than good.”

Ishmael paused, staring at Abigail. “How do you know about them? You gave my memories back.”

“I gave most of them back. He won’t notice the two I kept. I’m sure he won’t notice.”

He sat, saying nothing for a long time until Abigail finally broke the silence. “Do you want them?”

“Of course! But…not here. I’m not sure they’re done with me. When we get out. If we get out…I’ll take them then.”

She nodded. That made sense.

His tired eyes were full from the prospect of retrieving some of his happiest memories. “How did you keep them from Geoff? I’m trying to understand, but I just don’t get it. God, Abby, thank you so much.”

“Geoff isn’t as far gone as you may have thought. He was appreciative of my gift to him and thankful I didn’t let you hurt him or kill him myself. He wanted to repay me, and he was very reluctant to,” she paused and breathed out raggedly, “take the memories your boss required. In the end, he took the memories he was supposed to take, except four. It was a way for him to feel better about what he was forced to do.”

Ishmael shook his head in wonder. “A blue memory is a big deal, but I guess I never figured it might change his mind.”

“Maybe he isn’t used to being treated kindly,” Abigail supplied.

“I suppose not. I wasn’t kind to him, and I was the first person he met. I’m sure Eric wasn’t kind to him, nor the boss. I know it can mean a lot in this place.”

“It can mean a lot in any setting,” she corrected him.

He squeezed her hand. “Yes. It can. I can’t believe you kept my memories back. Thank you, Abby. I won’t be able to repay you.”

She squeezed his hand back. “Yes, you can. You can repay me by getting your life back. Your memories will be of no use to you if you stay here. I know you promised before just to pacify me. I don’t think you meant to go through with coming to the border. I couldn’t keep my promise to go there without you. I won’t leave you here to waste away.”

Ishmael played with a hole in his pants. “I will do my best to follow you. But it requires a desire for life I just don’t have. Not like you.”

Abigail said nothing. She understood why he was unsure about going home. She had a hard time remembering what was so great about it herself. Thankfully, little snippets of her daughter’s smile, laugh and playful eyes kept pulling at her. She knew nothing she said was going to convince Ishmael to really live. They didn’t talk for a while.

She stood with his help and scanned the room. It was small, but outfitted with necessities. There was a closet-sized room off in the back, which she figured was a bathroom. There was the cot, a metal chair and a thin blanket.

The floors and walls were black stone cement. There was a dull light shining from a lit sconce on the side wall, and a metal door at the front of the room. It was sparse and depressing but clean. “Is there a sink in the bathroom?”

Ishmael nodded.

“I’m going to wash up a little more. Geoff helped me get the glass out, but I’d like to be a little less gory.”

He didn’t look at her wounds, and probably kept himself from doing so since she’d been brought in. “I’d like that too.”

Abigail walked to the little bathroom and kept the door open a crack. It was a tiny space, with room for a sink and a small toilet. She didn’t like small spaces much. She twisted the faucet on, took her dress off and held it under the cool stream. She gently wiped her wounds, torso, chest and arms.

She rinsed the dress thoroughly and cleaned her face and neck. She stuck her hair under the arctic water and washed it without the aid of soap. She wrung her thick curls out, but shivered as the remaining water ran down her chest and back. Closing the door a little more, she removed her tights and underwear and used her dress to clean her entire body. She hated feeling dirty.

She was miserable and the cold was sending shivers over her entire body, but she knew she’d feel a little better if she were clean. At least the frigid water put out the fire running over her massacre of scratches. After she was done, she picked up the pile of clothes from the floor. The only piece of clothing she was missing was her grey scarf. She felt stupid as tears slid down her face, first slowly, then in a stream.

It wasn’t the loss of her scarf, which, for all she knew, was sitting in her coat closet back home; it was just the breaking point. She dropped her filthy clothes and sat on them. She pulled her knees up and hugged them, resting her face on top of her hands. She let the delayed tears come. She knew she was crying loudly, but it was impossible to stop.

She heard the door of the bathroom open a crack, but she didn’t process her state of undress in her distress. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.” She heard embarrassment in Ishmael’s voice and it took her a second to register she was naked.

It didn’t matter that he gave away the other memory of me naked, after all.
She thought, too tired to be abashed. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the comfort and peace of her bedroom at night.

She felt warmth wrap around her body, feet, and arms. She opened her eyes and saw cozy pink sweats, a white tank top and an over-sized, long teal cardigan. It was her “I’m sick” outfit and it was the most comforting thing she owned. She exhaled and wiggled her feet, which now wore sheep fleece slippers. She soon noticed Ishmael was still in the door. He probably hadn’t even looked away, she thought chagrined.

“I’m just tired.” Ishmael held out his hand and she let him help her up.

“No. You’re not just tired.” He lifted her chin. “Your eyes were such a beautiful green.”

Abigail felt her stomach drop. “They aren’t green anymore?”

“Just in spots.”

She leaned into him and he held her while she cried.

He walked her over to the cot and lay down next to her, patting her back and humming sad songs she thought she knew. He must’ve let her cry herself to sleep because she had fitful dreams. In them she sensed Jason and her father. They were near, but no matter how fast or how long she ran, she never caught up to them. She realized only the continual perception of nearness, never to be appeased.