Unforgotten(26)

“No,” Mrs. Pattinson replies hastily. “There’s one more thing. The matter of the young man with whom she arrived here. Her husband.”

My whole body squeezes to attention. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek and stare intensely at her, waiting for her next words with a burning, insatiable hunger that makes my skin itch.

“On the night she was arrested, he was returned to our farmhouse.”

Warmth floods through me. I shut my eyes and nearly collapse in relief.

He’s safe. He’s all right. The Pattinsons are taking care of him.

“At first, we thought he might be an accomplice to her immoral ways,” Mrs. Pattinson continues. “But he was very ill when he was delivered back to us, barely able to stand, almost unconscious, with sweats and chills and a fever higher than I’ve ever witnessed. And we quickly realized that he was not her accomplice but her victim. Clearly under the influence of her dark magic. I have no doubt that she was the one who was making him sick.”

“That’s a lie!” I hear an angry voice blurt out. It takes me a moment to realize that the voice belongs to me. Until this moment I haven’t uttered a word. “I would never do anything to hurt him!” I no longer have control over my own mouth. My own body. Tears are crashing down my face. I’m finding it hard to breathe.

Chaos has ensued as a result of my outburst. Everyone in the room seems to have an opinion on the subject and they’re all shouting it at once. The magistrate fights to restore order.

“And how is the young man faring?” he asks pointedly once everyone has quieted down. “Now that she’s been imprisoned and he is safely away from her.”

Mrs. Pattinson looks discomfited. Her eyes dart from one end of the room to the other, as though she feels like she is the one on trial here. Not me. “The truth is, I can’t tell you.” She pauses, wringing her hands. “He disappeared two days ago.”

Disappeared?

The magistrate echoes my confusion. “Disappeared?”

“Probably wandered off into the woods. My guess is the witch lured him out of the house with a spell.” Mrs. Pattinson spits in disgust. “But with that sickness in his blood, he wouldn’t last a mile.”

She’s right.

If he tried to go anywhere in his condition on foot, he wouldn’t make it far. If he attempted to transesse, looking for me, then he never arrived.

Which means …

“No doubt he’s dead somewhere in the woods,” Mrs. Pattinson concludes. “Food for the crows.”

The floor is suddenly seized from underneath my feet. The room appears to be spinning. There is no more blood in my head, my face, my fingers, my toes.

I feel my brain start to click off again. My body quickly follows. One by one, piece by piece, cell by cell, everything shuts down.

I am floating. I am falling. The beautiful stillness of the looming darkness welcomes me. Invites me in.

I go willingly.





13

RECORDED



I awake on my feet. Hoisted up by two guards. I am outside, being hauled back into the angry mob, my feet dragging through the dirt behind me. As I come to, I try to walk, but the iron chains around my wrists and ankles make it difficult. Not to mention the numbness that has worked its way to my legs, threatening to cut off circulation to my heart.

Good.

Maybe then it will stop beating.

Maybe then I can stop breathing.

Just. Stop.

I didn’t even hear what the verdict was. I passed out before it was announced. But I already know.

Although I’m not sure why there was ever a need for a trial. It seems to me I was guilty from the moment I set foot on seventeenth-century soil.

As I gaze out into the throng of people that awaits me, I’m reminded of when I left the hospital in the year 2013. After I was assumed to be the only survivor of Freedom Airlines flight 121. Mr. Rayunas, the social worker who was charged with the task of placing me in a foster family, had to guide me through a wall of reporters and photographers and news crews and onlookers wanting to sneak a peek at the girl who fell from the sky and lived to tell about it.

At that time, I was revered. A celebrity. A miracle.

Now I am detested. An abomination. A witch.

Regardless, I feel exactly the same. Like an outcast. Like someone who will never belong no matter where I go, no matter what I do. I will always stand out. I will always draw attention to myself. I will never be safe.

And now I’ve dragged a wonderful, innocent, beautiful boy down into my endless pit of destruction.

And now he’s gone forever.

Perhaps the Diotech scientists had it right. They kept me locked up behind concrete walls and security clearances. They restricted access to me. They even manipulated my own memories so I would never find out what a monster I actually am.