Sarah holds the switchblade in one hand, loosely, like she's uncomfortable with the weapon. Every so often, she glances down at it. "Would you tell me who you were before the Echo? Before the worlds collided?"
"Does it matter? Nobody is who they used to be anymore."
"We want to trust you, Gabriel. But evasive answers don't help."
Of course I'm being evasive. I just met these people. For all I know, they're Echo creatures who found a way to disguise their true nature, and any minute they'll hoist me onto a spit and roast me for dinner. Or maybe they're a doomsday cult who believe the Echo is their ticket to the afterlife, and they plan to sacrifice me to get inside the other world.
Yeah, I've spent too much time in the Echo.
Nothing in that hell world is as beautiful as the woman sitting ten feet away from me.
"Would you tell me about your time in the Echo?" Sarah asks.
"You don't want to know what it was like, trust me."
My pulse beats faster, and I start to feel slightly nauseous. Why? Anything I might tell her about the Echo is nothing Ihaven't experienced firsthand. It never made me uneasy before. But with Sarah's eerily pale eyes fixed on me, I develop a phantom itch that refuses to go away.
"I won't tell anyone else," she says. "Not unless you give me permission to do that."
"But you told your buddies that you'd get the information they want." I shake my head. "Guess you're a liar. Way to build trust, Lady Godiva."
"Please stop calling me that. My name is Sarah."
"What's your last name?"
She bows her head again. "I don't know."
For a moment, I stare at the top of her head. Then I finally manage to ask the obvious question. "Do you mean you have amnesia?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well, that's, uh…" I have no idea what to say to an amnesiac to make her feel better. Why I care about making her feel better, I have no clue. "Maybe your memory will come back soon. Is it total amnesia?"
She nods. "I have no idea who I am, or how I wound up lying on the beach, facedown, wearing tattered clothes. It's terrifying not to know anything about yourself."
This woman who just met me has shared a secret with me. I don't understand why. But it's pretty clear from her body language that she's telling the truth. She has no idea who she is or how she got here. At least I know my own name. She doesn't know where her family lives, whether they're still alive, or what she might've done to earn a living before the apocalypse. Something about her story makes me feel like I need to share more about myself with her.
"I had friends in the Echo," I tell her. "They were not human. I guess they were Echoes of people who died during the apocalypse. Anyway, they turned out to be good people whowanted to fight with me and find a way out of the new world Sefton Stainthorpe had created."
"You know about Sefton? Did you meet him?"
"Only from a distance. I saw him having a sort of conference with his minions. Then he vanished, and the creatures took off on a rampage."
"I've never seen what the creatures can do. At least, I don't remember seeing it."
"Be glad for that. They're monsters in the truest sense of the word." I sit back in my chair and sigh, letting my shoulders wilt. "Despite the horrors of the Echo, I found allies. We became friends, and eventually, a family."
"Maybe you can find them again and bring them into this world."
"No, I can't." I shut my eyes as the memory barrels through my mind. Screams. Blood. Agony. "They're all dead, and it's my fault."
Soft, warm hands clasp mine.
I open my eyes—and discover Sarah has moved up to my chair, kneeling in front of me. "What are you doing?"
"You seemed like you needed a little comforting. Whatever happened to your friends must have been horrific."
Why does she care about comforting me? I'd behaved like a complete asshole when we first met. Now, she's holding my hand while giving me the sweetest look of compassion and understanding. I should push her away, but I can't make myself do it. No one has ever looked at me the way she does right now. But it's pity, nothing more.