I couldn’t stop seeing her face, the panic in her eyes, when my captors threatened us both to secure my full cooperation. They didn’t come right out and say it, but it was certainly implied that if I didn’t do everything they asked, they’d kill my mother without hesitation.

“Do you work today?” Aggie asked as she handed me a banana. “Eat that up while I cook you some eggs.”

Aggie was forever pushing food on me, fussing over how thin I was. Compared to her, I was small—she was a large woman, with wide shoulders and a substantial chest—but compared to Chloe, or any of the girls Chloe hung out with, I was average sized.

“I have today off,” I answered, peeling back the banana’s skin. “Are you busy? We could have a movie day.”

“I have to be at the senior citizens’ center this afternoon, otherwise I would love to spend the day with you. You’ll be all right on your own?”

“Of course,” I lied. Honestly, I didn’t want to spend the day in the house by myself. When I was alone, I tended to disappear inside my own head, and my head was a landscape of horrors from the past.

Aggie gave me a sidelong glance before turning and busying herself at the stove. “Actually, you know what, I’m sure they can find another volunteer. I’ll give them a call and let them know I can’t make it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense. I want to.” She waved the spatula in the air. “We were supposed to paint flowerpots today, and really, do I need more flowerpots?”

Her back deck was littered with them. Big pots on the floor, small pots lined up on the railings. More pots were placed around the house, and not all of them held plants. At least a half dozen of them held odds and ends. She was right, she didn’t need more, but that wasn’t the point. I hated asking her to change her plans for me.

But I couldn’t bring myself to object, either. The past was creeping up on me today, suffocating me like a shroud.

“If you’re sure,” I said, and she nodded. “Thanks, Aggie.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

I closed my eyes once she turned away, and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache growing beneath my skull. I saw my mother in the darkness, screaming my name as my captors dragged her from me.

I’d escaped from where I was being held, but my mother hadn’t been so fortunate.

If I’d fought a little harder the last time I’d seen her, I would have hugged her, hugged her tightly and told her how much I loved her.

3

NICK

I WOKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, choking back a memory of dear old Dad that had found its way into my dreams. I lay in bed for a while, trying to force myself back to sleep. When that didn’t happen, I tossed off the sheet, threw on some clothes, and headed downstairs.

Everyone was asleep, so the house was quiet and dark. I dodged a creaky floorboard between the stairs and the living room, and made my way to the fridge. Inside were all the necessities—leftovers and beer. After dinner, Anna had sliced up what was left of the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Easy enough to eat with my fingers.

I left just enough food for it to be a tease, not enough for a meal. Cas would whine like he always did when things came down to food. I smiled to myself as I plucked a beer from the fridge.

With a quick pop of the front door lock, I was outside, grateful for the cool air. The moon was nearly full, so I didn’t need a flashlight to find my way to the edge of the woods, to the hollowed-out log that sat beneath a massive maple tree. I rooted around inside and pulled out the pack of cigarettes I’d hidden there along with a lighter.

Vice in hand, I went back to the porch, eased into one of the old lawn chairs, and propped my feet on the railing.

The night was noisy. Always with the goddamn crickets. Sometimes a coyote or two howled at each other.

Leaning back in the chair, the front legs rocking off the porch floor, I lit a cigarette and drew on it. Smoking was an old habit, one I’d obviously quit somewhere along the line, but I couldn’t remember if I’d quit on purpose, or if I’d just forgotten I’d smoked once my memories were wiped.

Either way, I still craved cigarettes like I craved good whiskey, and sometimes drawing on nicotine helped to break up all the shit crowding my head.

I felt better already.

I took another pull off the beer and then set it on the porch floor. I dug in my pants pocket and withdrew a flattened paper crane. Cigarette still clutched between two fingers, I brought the crane up to my line of sight and stared at its pointed head.

My mother was the one who taught me how to fold paper cranes. I was only five, maybe six. At first, my cranes came out crooked, with more fold lines in the paper than were needed. But origami was one of the few things we did together, and I didn’t care so much about the cranes as I did the attention.

The memories of my old life were still foggy and disjointed, but more and more of it was coming back—things I didn’t want to remember, things I was angry at having forgotten. The paper cranes were one of the first things I remembered about my mom. Everything else about her came after.

My mom was a shitty parent.

When my memories started to resurface, I’d remembered my dad first, and that my mom had left us when I was young. I’d wanted to think she left for a good reason, maybe because she couldn’t stand the shit and chaos my dad put her through.

Now I knew better.

Mom left because she was a junkie, and being a junkie had always been more important to her than being a mom.