Pretty Nightmare (Creeping Beautiful Book 2), page 5
But I have now claimed it as my own. It’s maybe a little bit big for a private space. But no one else uses it, so fuck it. This wing is mine now.
I need privacy because there are a lot of inconsistencies in my head.
Such as those four missing years when no one knew where I was. That part of my memory never came back. I’m sure Donovan is happy about that because if they did, he’d have to pay a lot more attention to me than he does now. And I get the feeling that Donovan’s babysitting days are over. He spends a lot of time in his new Pearl Springs office doing his own thing. I guess he decided he needed his own space too.
Anyway, I’m going back and forth here. Getting things all twisted in typical Indie fashion.
Up in the law library—before I realized that room was not going to be my space and I was going to claim the unused wing on the other side of the house instead—I found an old journal.
It’s an empty one and the pages are all yellow and old. But I like that about it. It makes things feel authentic. I started another timeline in that journal. I want the new one, the one Adam gave me, to be about the future. About my dreams and stuff. If I ever have dreams.
But I want the old one to be about the past.
I found a bunch of shit up there, actually. All of them were old things. Dusty. And weird too. I found some World War II medals in cases lined with ratty stained satin. But the weird thing about those, they were not American medals. Not German, either. Thank God. I had a little panic attack at first imagining them to be German and all the things that would come with that. But when I read the words, I recognized them as Dutch. Also strange, because Adam’s family is French, not Dutch, but at least they weren’t German. And maybe that wasn’t so weird, anyway. Adam speaks a lot of languages and Dutch is one of them. There has to be a reason he was taught that language as a boy. So whatever. I just put them back where I found them.
There were some guns too. Ancient rifles that you have to load with powder. And one newer-looking pistol that took me a while to recognize as a tranquilizer gun, like the kind you use on wild animals.
Again, I’m off topic.
The topic is this:
Why, when Indie starts a journal about the past, does the first page always begin with the sentence Nathan St. James was the boy next door?
That’s my question. Because every time I start a new entry and go thinking about the past, that same sentence is the only thing I’m able to write.
It’s like someone has put a magic spell on me. Like I’m an unfortunate princess in a fucking fairytale.
Or… someone has PSYOPSed me. Someone put this particular sentence inside my head and the trigger is me trying to write down anything that happened before the day I was bought in that auction on the island.
The future I can write about, that’s just fine. No problem writing about the future. The missing four years aren’t affected at all. They are just one hundred percent missing.
I tried it another way too. I bought a digital recorder in the Pearl Springs drugstore. And I tried to start an audio journal.
Same thing happened.
Nathan St. James was the boy next door.
Which would be fine. Because that’s actually where the story starts. Mostly.
But I already wrote that fucking story. Word. For. Word. I saw it in the journal McKay found. Nathan St. James was the boy next door. That’s what it said. Very first line.
I didn’t panic when I first figured this out. Because I had the tapes and Donovan didn’t take them back after McKay and I listened to them all that night when the truth came out.
Those were me and Donovan talking in our own words. That was my voice. That was his voice. And there was enough information in them to corroborate the story I wrote down in the journal McKay found. Angelica was on those tapes. Wendy was on those tapes. Nathan. Me. Donovan. McKay. Maggie. The jobs. The mistakes.
All of that happened. I have proof.
So why would someone—and let’s be clear here, there is only one someone capable of doing this to me—why would they prevent me from accessing anything but the sanctioned story of Indie and Nate?
That’s why I want to go backwards. That’s the missing piece here. It’s Nathan.
Something about him is wrong. I just don’t know which part.
Was it the way we met? Was it the way we spent our days? Was it the love? What? Which part is the lie?
There has to be a lie in there somewhere. That’s the only way this erasure makes sense.
And I need to know this. I will not die before I get these answers. And this is a tricky thing. Because no one knows when they’re gonna die. It might happen today. I could… I dunno. Trip and fall down the fucking porch steps and hit my head so hard, my brain swells up like Adam’s did when I hit him with the candlestick. Or hell, someone could hit me with a candlestick.
I will not die without figuring out the boy next door.
I refuse.
Because I miss him. And I want him back, even if it’s just in a memory. And now that I know someone has fucked up my head about Nathan, I can’t trust any of those memories.
Except the one where I kill him, of course. That one seems to be one-hundred-percent accurate.
I try not to think about that too much because I know there’s no way to change what happened that day. There is no way to take it back and make him real again.
But it hurts to think about Nathan. And every time I try to write in that journal and his name comes out the end of that pen, it kills me.
It kills me.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t go backwards. Not even in my own mind.
And that’s just not right.
It needs to be fixed.
I place a small digital recorder on the table in my new living room and wait.
Donovan shoots me a quizzical look. “What’s all this?”
Getting him over to this part of the house was a process in patience. Adam and McKay are outside in the pavilion watching TV with Maggie. We had dinner out there, then I asked Donovan to come inside and help me clean up. And after we finished, he was just about to head back outside, and probably leave for Pearl Springs, when I stopped him in the hallway and asked him to come with me. And that’s how we got over here.
“This as in”—I cock my head at him—“this room? Or the recorder?”
“What’s going on, Indie?”
I huff out a little breath. “Well, this is my new space. Do you like it?”
He looks around the room, takes it all in. “Hmm. It’s OK, I guess. Kinda hot in here.” He tugs at the collar of his button-down shirt to prove his point.
“I know. I just turned the AC on this afternoon. But it’ll get better soon.”
“So… why do you need space? And why are we recording this conversation?”
“It’s not on yet. But the two go together, actually.”
“OK.” His eyes narrow down at me. “Do you plan on explaining that?”
I let out another long exhale. “I need more answers, Donovan.”
“About what? I gave you all the tapes I have. I didn’t hold any back. I’m not going to be Adam’s scapegoat. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Adam’s not going to make you the scapegoat. And that doesn’t even make any sense. We’re all to blame here. You aren’t any more responsible for this mess than the rest of us. We all played our part.”
“That’s how I see it too. And I’m not saying he’ll blame me right away, but he’ll get around to it eventually. I’m done treating you, Indie. I’m not qualified, I’m not—”
“Stop it. Just stop it. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“Doubtful.”
“It’s not about anything we’ve already covered. It’s about… before, Donovan. Before Adam and McKay. Before the snake cage. Before all of that. I don’t remember much of it. Actually,” I amend, “I don’t remember any of it.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Some things are better left buried.”
“I don’t believe that and neither do you. We all need the truth eventually.”
He shakes his head a little, disagreeing. “I think looking backwards is a bad idea.”
“Oh? Then why do you disappear to your office in Pearl Springs every chance you get, hm?” I raise my own eyebrows back at him. “I know what you do there.”
He frowns at me. “Is that right?”
I nod. “Yup. You’re looking for answers about your past too. I broke in and snooped. Don’t worry.” I put a hand up to stop his outrage and protest. “I didn’t read your files or listen to your tapes. I’m not an asshole. It’s just pretty clear that you’re looking for answers. You’re kind of OCD about labeling shit, Donovan. You should probably stop doing that if you don’t want anyone to know what you’re up to.”
“It’s science, Indie. I need accurate records of things. Labeling is an important part of that process.”
“Hey, I’m not here to confront you, OK? I’m just saying that we both have missing parts and it’s not fair. This isn’t normal, Donovan, and you know that. That’s all I’m saying. You feel it too and that’s why you’re searching for answers.”
He inhales sharply, then walks over to the window and looks out at the untended garden. He turns back. “Do you know anything about it?”
“About what?”
“My past.”
I laugh. “You’re asking me, Donovan? I know less than anyone about everything.”
He turns to the window again. “Sometimes I feel that way too.”
“You do?”
He nods. “Yeah. Shit doesn’t add up, Indie.”
“What kind of shit?” I’m keenly interested in this. I have never thought much about Donovan’s childhood before. None of them, really. Maybe Adam’s a little bit because he grew up here at Old Home like me, so we have that in common. But it was all very casual and in the moment. I don’t sit around wondering about people other than myself. Which doesn’t say much about my capacity for empathy, but what can I do? This was a default setting programmed into me a long time ago.
Donovan turns back and walks over to a dusty, overstuffed chair covered by a white sheet. He takes the sheet off and drops into a heap off to the side, then sinks down into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and sighing deeply. He plays with his lip a little, kinda pinching it between his fingers, looking around randomly.
He exhales again. “Carter,” he says. “Mostly.”
“I wish I could help you. I’m not just saying that, either. I really do. You helped me a lot over the years, whether you think so or not. And I know I was kind of a bitch to you that night I listened to the tapes with McKay, but I was wrong to yell at you like that. I was wrong to blame you. I’ve listened to that tape like a hundred times since then and I really do believe you were scared.”
His eyes find mine immediately. They are dark, like his hair. He’s different than the rest of us in that respect. Not part of the same gene pool, obviously. “I was afraid. I had been for a long time before… everything fell apart.”
I hear the words he wanted to say, and didn’t. Before you tried to kill everyone.
“I knew it was wrong.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No.” He shakes his head at me. “No. I don’t get a pass, Indie. None of us do. I just…” He draws in a deep breath and then blows it out. “I don’t understand why I got involved with you and Adam in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was my idea, Indie. I’m the reason Adam bought you at the auction.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well.” He huffs out a laugh. “You don’t need to believe it to make it true. I was there when it happened. You were in a cage waiting to be eaten by a snake.”
I don’t think back on that night much. I don’t actually have a lot of feelings about it. Which is telling in a lot of ways.
“I told him to buy you. I practically talked him into it. And I wanted to be in it. I offered my services to him. To control you. That’s what I told him, Indie. I would use my PSYOPS experience to keep you in line.”
I shrug with my hands. “I know that’s how it happened. But Adam went to the island all on his own. You didn’t make him show up. Plus, it kinda worked. I’m not sure why you’re being so hard on yourself now. We know how it turned out. I mean, I could see you having this existential crisis if we were back in the past. Maybe when I was thirteen or something and things were still up in the air. But we’re on the other side of it now.”
“Are we?”
“Aren’t we?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No. That’s the problem. We’re still in the middle of it, Indie. It’s not over.”
I sigh long and loud. “I know that. I get it. Carter is still out there and he obviously wants something from me. But listen, I don’t care who he is—we’re a team of pretty formidable people, Donovan. Whatever his plan is, it’s not gonna go off without a hitch.”
He grunts a little, but stays silent, again playing with his lip.
“I brought you here because I want you to help me remember things before the island. And to ask you if you found any other files about me.”
He stops playing with his lip. “I just told you I handed everything over. I’m not hiding anything.”
“But did you look in the records, Donovan? From the island? I know you inherited your grandfather’s estate. And I’ve heard enough of Adam’s conversations with McKay to know that you got a lot of money out of that. But your family was in charge of that island for generations. So I was wondering if you came across any other records. Genealogy stuff, you know? Something that could tell me where I came from.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “I don’t have access to most of it. It’s digital and behind a whole fucking slew of passwords. My grandfather didn’t exactly leave me a file with the passwords, ya know? I used to snoop when I was younger. I hacked in a few times.” He throws up his hands. “See, this is my problem. I don’t know why I did that. Or what I was looking for.”
“Maybe you were looking for Carter?”
“But why, Indie? Why would I be looking for him back then? As far as I knew, he was dead. And now, after all that school, I just know way too much to let this go.” He points to his head. “The mind is a very powerful organ. We barely understand it. But here’s what we do know—it’s not reliable. Memories are things we make up, mostly. I mean, if you’re not crazy, then a lot of it is real. But it’s always tainted. By emotions, or things happening in the background, or just… wishful thinking. But we’re not exactly sane, are we? So our minds probably make a lot more mistakes in this regard then most others. So… I don’t know what’s real anymore. The man I am right now cannot understand what the boy at fifteen was thinking when he agreed to be a part of this. That’s why I have the office. I’m doing some self-hypnosis. Trying to dig out the parts that are missing and fill in the blanks. I just need to know why. Why the fuck did I get involved in this? Because all I had to do was just… go to school. Become a doctor. Do what they said.”
“Yeah, well.” I blow out a breath of air and a piece of hair in front of my face flies up. “Teenagers, Donovan. They’re not exactly known for following the rules.”
“Understatement of the fucking decade. My point is—the man I am right now? He feels sick about the boy he was. I”—he shakes his head—“I don’t like that boy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly in love with the girl I was either. That’s my point and why I asked you here. I mean, maybe we can help each other? Ya know? If you help me find my old self, I’ll help you find yours.”
I smile at him. I’m not the kinda girl who checks herself in the mirror regularly. Or even daily, if I’m being honest. But I can be pretty damn charismatic when I smile.
So he smiles back, appreciating my effort.
I walk over to him and plop down in his lap. His arms fall around me like I’m an old habit and I sink back into his chest and relax. “I like you, Donovan. We’ve always been friends, right?”
“I guess. I mean, yes.” He laughs. “You and I are friends. We’re not very different, are we? And we’re not even that far apart in age. Just five years. Which felt like a lifetime of difference back when you first came here. But it doesn’t feel so far away now, does it?”
“Nope. We’re peers, right? It’s different with us than it is with Adam and McKay. I’ve always thought of you the way I did Nathan. You know, my friend. Not my boss. Even though you were always the one in charge, I never felt like you were demanding things of me. It was always an ask.”
“Hmm. That’s nice to know. I carry a lot of guilt about you, Indie.” He pushes me away a little bit so he can see my face. “I’d just like to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Oh, stop. That’s not even true. Who the hell knows who would’ve bought me if it wasn’t you and Adam?”
“Oh, God.” He rubs his temple with a fingertip. “As much as I want to tell you not to say that—that I didn’t buy you—it’s true, isn’t it? I did.”
“That’s not the point I was making. I’m just saying, it could’ve been a lot worse. I’d probably be dead now if you two didn’t buy me that day.” We both think about this for a little bit and then I say, “So what do you think? You help me and I’ll help you?”
He sighs again, sounding very tired. “What’s your plan, then? More therapy?”
“Yeah. I want you to put me under and ask me things. Things about before the island. And then… I don’t know. I’ll help you any way I can. I’ll ask you things, if you want. I can’t hypnotize you, obviously. But I can help you figure it out. I don’t have any idea what self-hypnosis looks like, but it can’t be… reliable. At least I’ll keep you honest.”
“Is this gonna be a secret? Just between us?”
“It doesn’t have to be, if that makes you uncomfortable. We can tell Adam and McKay if—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No. We can tell them about you, if you’d like. But not about me. I don’t want them knowing shit before I do. And I can’t trust Adam. I love him, don’t get me wrong. I’d die for him if it came down to it. Like…” He laughs. “I can’t really fight my way out of anything with him. We’re not trained the same. But if I could help him in a time of need, I would. No hesitation. McKay too. But this is…”
