“You mean I could end up a completely different person?”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely?”
“It’s very individual.”
“That’s a nonanswer.”
“It’s the answer I have to give you. Not only are there a minute number of people who’ve gone through this, but the circumstances they find themselves in could affect the outcome. It’s like a husband lost at sea for years, and when he returns his wife has remarried. Does she love him less?”
“Thank God I’ve remembered enough to know I’m not married,” I say. “If Kayden and I had that over our heads, I’m not sure where we’d be. But there’s the potential that something in my past could change us.” I shake my head. “We can’t live like this. He can’t have unknowns.”
Nathan leans closer, elbows on his knees. “Let me be as clear as possible. Do I think you will wake up and be a different person? No. Do I think you will stop caring about Kayden? No. Do I think the past could influence how either of you feel for each other? Maybe. And do I have one ounce of scientific evidence to justify those answers? Yes. But not much more.”
“And that’s not enough for Kayden.”
“He says it is.”
“And we both know it’s not, Nathan,” I insist, but I stick to the less-is-more idea, and leave it at that. “We both know that he deserves more than that. Make me remember.”
“I can’t make you remember.”
“What about drugs or hypnosis?”
“No to drugs, and I don’t recommend hypnosis for one simple reason: risk versus reward. It’s not documented as highly effective, and we’d have to step outside The Underground. Writing in your journal is the best way to bring back your memories.” His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pants pocket and glances at it. “I need to go,” he says, his gaze catching on the TV remote. “This part of the castle has American news. Have you tried watching it?”
“No. I had no idea we got American news here.”
“I think I remember Kayden saying it’s only in this tower. Some kind of technical issue, so try it. It might be better than hypnosis.” He starts to walk away.
“Wait. Nathan.” He turns and arches a brow. “This room isn’t where Kayden and Elizabeth lived, right?”
“No. He left that part of the tower sealed, even after he opened this part. There’s a lot he keeps sealed, Ella. He’s his own best enemy. Not you.”
“Is that what you told him when he asked you about me?”
“Yes.”
The answer is too simple. “But he wanted more, just like me.”
“Of course he wanted more, and I had to tell him exactly what I’ll say to you. You’re suppressing something, and no matter how much you say you want to remember it, you don’t. Your mind is protecting you from what it thinks you can’t handle. You’ll remember it when you’re ready.”
He leaves, having confirmed that he’s all but told Kayden that I’m the potential time bomb I’ve feared.
eight
I stare after Nathan, watching him disappear around the corner, and I decide he’s done me a favor by removing any answer to my questions but me. I have to solve this. I have to remember and stop hiding from my past, and just deal with it. That means exposing myself to triggers in every way I can.
Doing what I can right here and now, I pick up the remote and begin flipping through channels, and sure enough, I find two American news stations: CNN and Fox. Memories don’t stir in my mind, but the familiarity is a welcome sensation and I keep the TV on. Obama is president. Biden is vice president. I know these things easily, but I have no clue how government works in Italy—which shores up my conclusion that I hadn’t been in Italy very long when I ended up in the hospital and with Kayden.
Unzipping my purse, I remove my journal and pen, and cautiously seal Charlie back inside. Opening to a blank page, I will memories to come to me and fill the pages . . . but I am as blank as they are. I start drawing the butterfly again, tracing it over and over, outlining the curves of the wings. The sound of the newscaster talking intrudes and I decide to give up on memories, changing the channel to an Italian station, making a list of words I want to look up. Music would be even better, since songs repeat words over and over. Yes, I decide. I need music, but this Italian thing isn’t going to work without a computer to look up words. I’m sure Kayden has one I can use, but for now, I start writing down words from the TV that sound familiar: ciao, bello, prego, la ragazza.
And suddenly, I’m back in that moment where I found David dying on the pavement.
I rush to him, and there is blood oozing from his chest. “I’ll get help. Hold on. I’ll get help.” I start to get up and he grips my arm.
“Wait,” he hisses. “Don’t . . . give . . . him the necklace.”