Memory

I

finished reliving my memory. She had been right. The loneliness never goes away; it just becomes easier to deal with. Other people made it easy. Andrew, Doctor Tsunoda, Mrs. Waltham, Annette, Nathan, and even, in her own way, Max. You do end up making a home in them. A piece of you forever lives in them. A piece of them forever lives in you. Even if they leave, they remain alive within you. It is both a blessing and a curse. But now, one by one, these people were being taken away from me.

Their pieces living within me have become shaped into my demons. The ring made me overwhelmed. Mrs. Waltham observed my expression and looked worried. “Victoria, is everything okay? You seem distressed. Is it the ring? Do you not want it, my child?” She placed her hand on my head affectionately.

I shook my head as I sniffed. “No, No. I love the ring. I just remembered the moment we first talked about the ring. It just overwhelmed me a bit how much time has passed.” She continued to rub my head affectionately. “I will start preparing lunch. Just sit here with your aunt, Victoria.” With that, she left us alone, respecting our privacy.

Mrs. Waltham spent the day with us. I could see Max’s distrust for her fading as hours ticked by. She even laughed at something Mrs. Waltham said. I just cherished the moments. I also brought up the past a lot. Maybe, just maybe, she will end up remembering something about the birth certificates.

We desperately needed a lead. Anything would help right now. Hannah is too quiet. It is unsettling. “Do you know anyone named Annette? Or maybe Sophia?” I casually put in the question between her fits of laughter. “Uhhh, I am not sure. I have known a lot of people in my life. So, I do not know what you are talking about.” I needed to visit Dad's house again.

There has to be something there, some clue, anything. If I am lucky enough, I might just find the original certificates. The police will find Hannah; I have no doubt about it. Sooner or later, she will get caught. Her getting caught does not guarantee my getting to know the entire story. I have to find it out on my own.

Max and I took the bus to my childhood home. Mrs. Waltham, when she overheard me talking to Max about going, insisted we go back with her in her car. However, I refused. I did not want to put her in any kind of danger by associating myself with her too much.

Max decided it might be unsafe to stay the night there, as Hannah must already know that place. But I reminded her, “If she had already known that place, why did she not go after my father? The person she is really after?” Max’s entire body stilled at my question, the gears in her head turning. I answered for her. “Because she never knew about that place. If she had, why would she not go after him when she had so many chances? Why wait for his death?” Max seemed content with my explanation. However, it created another question in my mind.

Mrs. Waltham's son had said that he saw some woman arriving with my dad at our house back then. If Hannah did not know our whereabouts, then who was she? Or could it be that Hannah is not the one after me? And the woman who visited Dad was Hannah? But no one else except Hannah has a motive. I needed to stop such questioning thoughts now that we were in the middle of the investigation.

I also could not let such thoughts show in front of Max and have her and Detective Ocon doubt the investigation. We passed by the fields and the dirt roads. Everything was exactly as I remembered. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me as I remembered the last time I was here. Andrew had been with me as I sat in the passenger seat, and we talked about our childhoods.

We played our music, and I did not realize how much that little moment meant to me until now, now that I know I will never relive it or recreate it. I never even visited his family after getting back from jail.

What would he be thinking of my conduct from up there? Why did I never visit his family? I could never shake the look in his mother's eyes when she saw me standing outside his funeral but never going in. The eyes of grief.

How can a person be an emotion? Yet, there she was. That day, she was grieving. The look in her eyes was one of companionship for me, one of mutual loss. How was I to explain to her that our loss might be mutual? I was the reason for that loss. How was I to explain to her that I was guilty?

How could I talk to her about grief, knowing I caused it? I could never forget the grief in his sister's voice when she told people, in a hushed voice, not to come up to me and disturb me, to leave me be. How could I look at her without screaming out loud?

Without telling them that they should not be kind to the person they loved? For him, love had become violent. For me, love had become violent. Just like my father. Another thing I shared with him. His family was understanding and kind toward me when I was the last person who deserved their kindness.

The house looked the same as last time. I did not know what I was reliving more, my memories with Andrew or my memories with Dad. This house was forever engraved with loss. He died immediately after visiting this house with me. Dad fell ill here. Young me would be astonished by my own inability to deal with my thoughts. I shook my head as I put down my bags in the living room. Max entered a moment later and put down her own bags beside mine.

The way she looked at me expectantly; I knew she was waiting for me to say something. I had no energy to say anything or make more memories in this house, which would just add to the graveyard of memories in my mind. Nathan had asked me to call him when I reached the house.

I reached for my phone sitting at the bottom of my backpack and dialed his number. Ring, ring, ring.... He picked up after three rings. “Hey, Victoria, was traveling okay? Did you get there fine? How is Max? She is with you, right?”

I had half a mind to cut his interrogation short because of how expected it was, but I let him go on. “I am doing okay. Max is fine too.” Max’s eyes perked up upon hearing her name being mentioned. “Call me if you need anything, alright?” “No offense Nathan, but I know this area better than you do. I will be more of help to myself than you would be to me.” Even as I finished speaking, I knew how rude and mean that sounded.

I sighed at my own behavior. Why am I taking it out on him? There was silence on the other side of the line. Just as I was about to apologize, Nathan spoke up, “What is it with the attitude? Everything okay?” Even when I was being rude to him, he chose to understand. He deserved better. "I am sorry, Nathan. It's not you. I just have a lot weighing on my mind. I am sorry I took it out on you." "I will free up my schedule.

Let's meet once you are back and talk everything through. It has been a while." I nodded my head as if he could see me agreeing to him before realizing I was on the phone with him. “Yeah, okay. Let’s meet when I get back.” With that, I cut the call. I turned to Max, calmly observing her surroundings with her arms folded across her chest. "You can take the room upstairs; I will show you the way.

There is an attached washroom with it. You can freshen up before we head to Mrs. Waltham's for dinner." "How far is it?" "It is right next door." I climbed up the stairs as Max followed along the way.

Her room was right opposite mine, the same room Andrew stayed in. No, I cannot think about him right now. Stop thinking about him. I gave my head a shake as I felt Max's eyes on me, observing. I had no energy remaining to tell her off, so I simply entered my room and shut the door.

After I showered, I heard rattling coming from the house. What the hell? Is that Max? What is she doing? I dried my hair with a towel as I exited my room. I saw the door of her room open, her stuff neatly laid out in the provided space. The rattling, like someone was trying to open a window, came again. I went downstairs to see Max shaking the kitchen window. “Max, what are you doing?” She stopped shaking the window when she heard my voice.

It looked like she had freshly come out of the shower. Her long hair was dripping wet down her back as she adorned a black knee-length dress with silver pumps. She looked stunning. “I was checking all of the locks on the windows and the doors.

One is left. The one in the attic.” As she began to head upstairs toward the attic, I stopped her. "That one has been jammed for years; you do not need to check it." "But......" "Leave it, Max." My tone was unfair and harsh; I knew it. She was only doing all of this for my protection.

I simply do not want her up in the attic. She looked straight into my eyes, but I refused to back down. Seeing my determination, she gave me a small nod and headed back down. After changing my clothes, we left for Mrs. Waltham's house.

Anthony greeted us at the door. "Long time, no see, Vic." I felt Max’s stare burning holes in my back upon hearing the nickname. “Anthony, this is Max, my friend. Max, this is Anthony, Mrs. Waltham’s son.” Max gave him a tight-lipped smile while Anthony nodded his head in acknowledgment and returned the smile. Inside, we were warmly greeted by Mrs. Waltham, her smile, her hugs, and the smell of her food. I forgot all of my sadness from earlier.

This felt like home. Mrs. Waltham’s hugs felt like home. We were all seated around the dining table as Mrs. Waltham told Max stories of Anthony and me from our childhood. "This one time, both of them decided to run away from home. Victoria was mad at her father, while Anthony's only friend was Victoria, so he promised to accompany her everywhere. I found out about their plan and wanted to see what they would do, so I waited.

They even cleaned their bicycles together because they would leave on them. Anthony had said to me, "I love you, Mom, and I will never forget you. But I will go with Victoria because she is my best friend." When I went outside in the evening, both of them were still sitting on our porch.

I asked them what happened with the plans to run away, and Victoria replied, in the most innocent tone, "I cannot run away today. Dad told me to watch over the house today. We will go tomorrow." Anthony sat beside her vigorously, nodding his head. It was so hard for me to control my own laughter." Max was in fits as she heard the story. I was smiling too. I remembered that day. I was so determined to leave Dad that I packed everything I considered essential, including my toys and tea party set.

Dad had scolded me for making a mess and then refused when I asked for the cake sitting in the fridge. I had packed up everything and was going down the stairs when I saw his handwritten note stapled on the fridge. “Watch the house while I am gone. Dad.” I think a part of him knew I was sad. This might have been his way of asking me to stay, of reaching out. But that is silly. I was just a kid. I was going to come back.

After dinner, Max and I bid goodbye to the Waltham family amid Mrs. Waltham's protests. “You did not even stay for tea. You should stay.” I politely refused all of her advances.

I felt a little bad about consistently saying no to her, but I had no choice. I needed to get back and start searching the house. I could see from the slump in Max's shoulders she was getting tired as well. We walked back home in silence. Max kicked small rocks along the way to keep herself distracted.

We entered the house to find it the same as always. I am not sure, but a part of me was scared Hannah had found this place too. A part of me was scared of coming home, only to find out she had marred this for me too. But everything was normal. Max bid me goodnight as she immediately walked toward her room.

I moved toward my own room to change out of the night's clothes. I ran my fingers across the walls as I went upstairs, soaking in the feeling. After changing, I took my phone and immediately moved toward the attic. It was as dingy as I remembered it.

Due to it being night, the entire space felt like it was covered by darkness, and that darkness wrapped around it like a cloak, refusing to let go. I sneezed when I inhaled the dusty air in the room. The air in itself felt heavy due to the moisture.

As I moved the flashlight around, everything looked exactly as it did the last time around. I began to go through the boxes. Same old stuff. Photographs, contracts, albums, music collections. I sighed dejectedly as I sat on the floor covered with so much dirt and grime it ultimately felt like a part of the floor itself. Was this visit a total waste?

Why did I come back when I knew I had already checked things thoroughly? I got up and began to walk around the attic, once again letting my thoughts run wild. I noticed something peculiar.

One of the patches of the hardwood walls felt lighter than the others. I went back to it and tapped my fingers on it. It felt lighter. I tapped my knuckles on it and realized the sound was echoing. The patch was hollow.

I hastily positioned my phone above a cardboard box so it would be light enough for me to see what I was doing and began to inspect it. I ran my hands over the patch and realized it was quite small, roughly the size of a cardboard box. But how did it fit in here? That is when I realized this is why the chimney does not work. This is the chimney. I began to look for slits to take off the wood exterior.

My nails dug into one, and it was an effort to keep one of them from breaking. I dug my nails into the narrow slit. The slit, too, was filled with grime and dust. I was disgusted as my nails digging into it made a squelching sound and made the edges of my fingertips wet. I grunted with the effort of pulling the piece of wood away. Just a little more. It came free! The force of it had pushed me back, making me lose my balance and fall.

I quickly got myself up and wiped my finger on my pajamas. I picked up the phone once again and directed the light coming from the torch into the dark space. I was right. It was no bigger than a cardboard box. At first, it felt like the space was averting the light. It had been shrouded in darkness for such a long time that it refused to let any light pass through.

The darkness inside felt like it had its own weight, its own mass. After my vision cleared up slowly, I saw what was inside the space. A diary. A small diary. That is it? Did he go through so much trouble to hide a diary? I was astonished. I picked it up and looked it over. It felt light in my hands. It had a brown leather surface and yellow pages. I flipped through it. It contained entries in my dad's own handwriting.

Entries from his youth till approximately the time he met Hannah and left her. Just as I was beginning to read it, I noticed something sitting neatly on top of one of the cardboard boxes placed at the very back. By now, my vision had become adjusted to the entire room, and I could see things clearly. The reason it caught my eye even while it was sitting behind a box behind a vertical pile of two boxes was that it was the only clean, fresh thing in the room. I screamed.

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