Forbidden

Pretend

Van

The first thing Van noticed upon awakening was the strange smell. Not unpleasant, precisely. Simply different. Her sheets rarely lost the fresh scent of laundry detergent because Paula changed them every other day. If they went into a closet between use, it was only for the time between changes. The sheets pressed against her nose currently bore the odor of something that had sat too long. A bit woody and stale, and when she rolled to her back, the movement released another scent- a hint of mildew.

Sitting upright- slowly because her head was pounding- she sought to recall what had happened earlier in the day. The arcade. The warehouse. Luca's house. Her memories swirled around a series of places, each one bringing different emotions, but she couldn't recall much after walking inside the old farmhouse with Nancy.

She grabbed her phone. A message from her father was on the screen. Thankfully, it was recent enough to have not been followed by a frantic second or third message, or worse- a phone call.

Abe: I don't think I'll be coming home this evening. Paula can make whatever you'd like for dinner, or you can order takeout.

As much as she wanted to ignore him, Van saw this for the blessing it was. He didn't know she was gone, and she needed it to stay that way as long as possible.

Van: K.

Abe would read that and be irritated, but he would remember she was angry with him. To send something upbeat and perky would be suspicious, and she didn't want to commit to takeout or Paula cooking as either of those things would be easy to check up on.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she massaged her scalp with her fingertips, urging her memories to return while looking at the room. Like the rest of the house, it was outdated but clean. Panelling and wallpaper continued in here, and someone had thrown rugs all over the floor to hide the worst of the scarred wood. A beaded lamp sat on the bedside table, and beneath it was a gold picture frame. In the photo, a redheaded girl flashed a gap-toothed smile while holding up a fish. It was small, little more than bait, but her pride was obvious. More obvious was the resemblance the child bore to Van when she was that age, but she'd never gone fishing in her life.

The barrier around the rest of her memories crumbled, as if the picture had struck it like a wrecking ball. An adolescent boy, about seven or eight, had walked into the hallway. The curls on his head were unruly and fell into his eyes. Freckles stood out on milky skin, and two of his teeth were missing. She'd called him Walker and then fainted.

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. The resemblance was uncanny. It had been months since he died, but this little boy looked exactly as she imagined he would look now. Taller, a little thinner- only his face holding onto the baby fat. The bit of tan he could hold on to in the summer was gone now that winter had settled in, but as much as she wanted it to be him, it wasn't possible.

She'd touched his cold face while he laid unbreathing in his coffin. They had tamed his curls with so much hairspray that no matter how she tried, she couldn't get them to fluff back up. Someone, she couldn't recall who, had led her away in tears as she shouted that his hair was wrong. So no, it wasn't possible that this child was Walker. Too much stress and dreaming had broken her sanity.

Voices drifted up from the floor below. Either her hearing was improving or the floors were as thin as the walls. Both were possible. She shuffled out of the room, feeling far older than sixteen as her body protested every step.

While she walked, she counted. She, plus Luca and the three they arrived with, made five. At least four guards were posted outside. Nine. The little boy made ten. A few doors along the hallway had lights shining through the cracks, but no one came out when she went to the stairs. She supposed they could all be unconcerned about the energy bill, but it was doubtful. She added three to her count. Thirteen.