I took a deep breath, trying to calm the tempest of emotions within me. We were so close, yet still in the dark. My gaze swept over the scattered papers on the table. And then, something else caught Krista's eye. Her head snapped up, eyes wide. She reached for another paper, picking it up, staring at it with an unnerving intensity. It looked like a blueprint for some kind of laboratory.
Her body stiffened. A faint groan escaped her lips. "No way." I watched as her chest heaved, her breathing growing ragged. She started hyperventilating, clutching her head, her face contorting in pain. Kilian, ever watchful, was at her side in an instant.
"Mom? What is it?" he asked, his voice sharp with concern.
Krista didn't answer him immediately. Her hand, shaking, reached out, thrusting the blueprint at Ethan. He took it, his eyes questioning. She looked at him, then at all of us, her gaze wild and desperate, as if the horrors she'd just witnessed were now burned into her very vision.
"It's a lab. They were experimenting on humans. They were turning them into monsters." Her voice was a strained whisper, filled with a raw, guttural horror. The words hung in the air, heavy and chilling. My friends and I exchanged shocked glances, our faces reflecting the grim realization. "I think it was the reason why we burned the orphanage."
The world tilted. Monsters. Experiments. The orphanage. Her words, spoken with such conviction despite her obvious agony, tore through years of official lies and whispered accusations. She hadn't been a traitor. She had been a savior. The Church's accusations of treason, the rumors of arson, all of it twisted, a grotesque inversion of the truth. A cold fury, slow and steady, began to burn in my chest.
Krista was sweating, her skin clammy. The mental strain was clearly too much. I watched, helpless, as her eyes rolled back. She swayed, then her legs gave out. She fainted again, collapsing against Kilian, who caught her gently.
The hours that followed dragged by, an agonizing vigil. Kilian remained by her side, a silent, fierce protector. I couldn't tear my gaze away from her face, pale and still on the bed. So, the accusations were false. She was escaping something sinister.
When she stirred again, it was subtly at first. I noticed her eyes fluttering open. Her gaze drifted, settling on Kilian, who was now peacefully asleep on the sofa in the corner of the room, exhausted from his own ordeal and his vigil. She looked at him, a soft, unreadable expression on her face. Then, she slowly and quietly got up, her movements cautious, as if afraid to wake him.
She moved towards the study, towards Anita's things again. My gut clenched. She was pushing herself too hard. The last two memories had been devastating.
I stepped into the study, purposefully making a slight sound to announce my presence, but not enough to startle her too badly. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended, laced with concern.
She jumped, spinning around. "Can you please not appear out of the blue? You're going to give me a heart attack," she said, a flash of her old fiery spirit in her tone, despite her obvious distress.
I allowed a slight smile. Still the same, even without her memories. I watched her closely as she returned her attention to the papers. Her brow was furrowed, a slight grunt escaping her lips as she clearly struggled with another internal battle. "A few memories have been coming back to me since I came here," she admitted, her voice tight with strain. "I'm grateful, but it feels like my head is going to burst."
"Which memory did you remember just now?" I asked, my curiosity warring with my concern for her. Every fragment, every sliver of her past, was a key to unlocking the truth, to understanding.
"Just something unimportant," she lied, avoiding my gaze, her focus fixed on the papers. The pain in her voice, however, betrayed her. I knew she was hiding something, protecting herself, but I couldn't force it from her. Not like this.
My hand reached out, gently taking the papers from her grasp and placing them back in the box. "Put those down," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "Your head is really going to burst if you push yourself too hard. Come on. Let's go." I took her wrist, pulling her along. She resisted for a moment, surprised.
"Wait, where are we going?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.
The next thing she knew, we were in the car, the tinted windows offering a shield from the outside world. The driver, accustomed to my eccentricities, didn't bat an eye at the sudden passenger. We drove around the city for a while, the familiar streets flashing past. I pointed out places, trying to paint a picture of a past she couldn't recall. "That's where we used to grab the best coffee," I'd say, or "We snuck out here late at night to watch the stars." I acted like a tour guide, speaking of the places we used to frequent, the secret spots only we knew.
It was strange. I felt a profound sense of comfort just having her near, seeing her react to the city. At the same time, it was suffocating. My heart was being squeezed, knowing that these memories were mine alone, that the shared history I cherished was foreign to her. I watched her closely, searching for any spark of recognition, any hint that the old Krista was stirring beneath the surface of Annie. Sometimes, a flicker of emotion would cross her face, a shadow of an expression I remembered, but then it would vanish.
After a few hours, we got back to my home. The moment the car stopped, she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I'm tired," she announced, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. She went straight to her room, leaving me in the hall. I knew it was a lie. She wasn't tired. She just wanted to be alone. I could almost feel the tears she was holding back, the ones she didn't want me to see. My heart ached.