6 THE MEMORY HE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAVE
1328 Words
Lucian stared at the photograph.
Three teenagers.
Three faces.
One terrible night.
And suddenly, something inside his mind shifted.
The abandoned railway station disappeared.
For a fraction of a second, he wasn't standing there anymore.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere warm.
Somewhere familiar.
Rain hammered against a window.
A young girl was laughing.
A boy stood beside her.
And another boy was sitting on the floor, holding a red box.
Lucian blinked.
The vision vanished.
He looked at the man standing before him.
"Who are you?"
The man's expression changed.
"You really don't remember."
"I asked you a question."
"My name is Adrian."
Lucian stared at him.
The name meant nothing.
Yet somehow...
the face did.
A strange pressure formed behind his eyes.
Adrian noticed.
"You're remembering."
"No."
Lucian looked away.
"I'm not."
"Then why are you shaking?"
Lucian glanced at his hand.
His fingers were trembling.
He immediately clenched them.
"Tell me what happened that night."
Adrian didn't answer.
"Tell me."
"You aren't ready."
Lucian gave a bitter laugh.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
He stepped closer.
"My father."
"My mother."
"You."
"Everyone knows something about my life except me."
Adrian studied him.
"Because forgetting kept you alive."
Lucian's expression hardened.
"Who made me forget?"
Adrian's eyes lowered.
"Someone you trusted."
Silence.
Lucian felt something cold settle in his chest.
"Who?"
Adrian looked toward the entrance of the abandoned station.
"We shouldn't stay here."
"Why?"
"Because they know you're here."
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Before Adrian could answer—
A car passed outside.
Its headlights briefly illuminated the broken windows.
Both men became silent.
Adrian immediately grabbed Lucian's arm.
"Move."
Lucian pulled away.
"I don't take orders."
"Then consider it advice."
Another pair of headlights appeared.
This time, the vehicle stopped.
Lucian looked toward the window.
Three men stepped out.
Dark clothing.
No visible insignia.
One of them looked toward the station.
Adrian's expression changed.
"They found us."
Lucian's jaw tightened.
"Who are they?"
Adrian whispered,
"The people your father spent seven years running from."
---
Across the city
Anastasia sat in the back of her car, staring at the message on her phone.
HE'S STARTING TO REMEMBER.
She hadn't replied.
She couldn't.
Her mind kept returning to the photograph.
Lucian.
Herself.
Adrian.
Seven years ago.
She had spent years convincing herself that the memories were nothing more than fragments of childhood.
But they weren't.
She remembered Lucian.
She remembered Adrian.
And she remembered the night of the fire.
Not everything.
Just pieces.
A hallway.
Smoke.
Someone screaming.
Lucian holding her hand.
Adrian shouting something.
Then darkness.
Anastasia closed her eyes.
She didn't want to remember more.
Her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Father.
She answered.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"On my way home."
"Good."
His voice was unusually serious.
"Don't go anywhere else tonight."
"Why?"
"Because someone has been asking questions about you."
Anastasia sat upright.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Silence.
"Father."
"Listen to me."
His voice lowered.
"Whatever happens tonight, stay away from Lucian."
Anastasia looked out the window.
"Why?"
"Because he's beginning to remember."
Her heart stopped.
"Remember what?"
Her father didn't answer.
Then the call ended.
Anastasia stared at her phone.
For years, she had wondered why her father hated the Vale family.
Now she was beginning to understand.
It wasn't hatred.
It was fear.
---
The abandoned station
Lucian crouched behind a concrete pillar.
Adrian stood beside him.
Three men entered the station.
They moved silently.
Professionally.
One carried a flashlight.
Another checked the doors.
The third remained near the entrance.
Lucian whispered,
"Who are they?"
Adrian shook his head.
"Don't speak."
One of the men suddenly stopped.
He looked toward the pillar.
Lucian's muscles tensed.
The man raised his flashlight.
The beam moved across the floor.
Closer.
Closer.
Then stopped.
Adrian suddenly grabbed a loose piece of metal and threw it toward the opposite side of the station.
CLANG!
The men turned.
"Over there!"
They rushed toward the noise.
Adrian grabbed Lucian.
"Now."
They moved through a narrow corridor.
Lucian followed him into an old storage room.
Adrian pushed a broken cabinet aside.
Behind it was a small opening.
"A tunnel?"
Lucian stared.
"Go."
They climbed inside.
The tunnel was dark and narrow.
Lucian followed Adrian for several minutes before they reached another exit.
They emerged behind an abandoned warehouse.
Adrian stopped.
Lucian turned toward him.
"Start talking."
Adrian sighed.
"You always were impatient."
Lucian frowned.
"You remember me."
"Yes."
"From when?"
"Before the fire."
Lucian stared at him.
"And Anastasia?"
Adrian's expression changed.
"Yes."
"You knew her too."
"Yes."
"How?"
Adrian looked away.
"You three were closer than you realize."
Lucian's mind flashed again.
Rain.
A red box.
Anastasia laughing.
His own voice saying something.
He couldn't hear the words.
He pressed his fingers against his temple.
"What is wrong with me?"
Adrian stepped closer.
"Nothing."
"Then why can't I remember?"
"Because someone didn't just erase your memories."
Lucian looked up.
"They replaced them."
Silence.
"What?"
Adrian stared at him.
"You were made to believe a different version of that night."
Lucian's heart pounded.
"Who?"
Adrian shook his head.
"Not yet."
Lucian grabbed his collar.
"You're running out of chances."
Adrian didn't fight him.
Instead, he looked directly into Lucian's eyes.
"You think the fire was the worst thing that happened that night."
He paused.
"It wasn't."
Lucian released him slowly.
"What was?"
Adrian reached into his coat.
He pulled out a small red box.
Lucian stared at it.
The moment he saw it—
another memory struck.
A younger version of himself sitting beside Anastasia.
Her hand was resting on the box.
She was crying.
And Lucian was saying—
"Don't tell anyone."
The vision disappeared.
Lucian staggered.
Adrian caught him.
"You saw it."
Lucian looked at him.
"What was inside that box?"
Adrian's expression became grim.
"Something your family has been searching for ever since."
---
The Vale mansion
Elena stood alone in the study.
Victor had left the room.
She stared at an old photograph on the desk.
Three children.
Lucian.
Anastasia.
Adrian.
Her fingers slowly touched Lucian's face.
"You were never supposed to remember."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
She quickly wiped it away.
The door opened.
Victor entered.
"Did you speak to him?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"He knows."
Victor's expression hardened.
"How much?"
"Enough to become dangerous."
Victor walked toward the desk.
"We need to get him out of the city."
Elena shook her head.
"It's too late."
"Why?"
"Because they found him."
Victor looked at her.
"Who?"
"The same people who found me."
Silence.
Victor's eyes darkened.
"Then we have a bigger problem."
Elena looked toward the window.
"No."
She whispered.
"We have the same problem we've had for seven years."
---
Later that night
Anastasia arrived home.
The mansion was dark.
Too dark.
She stepped inside.
"Dad?"
No answer.
She switched on the lights.
Nothing.
She walked toward the study.
The door was open.
Her father's chair was empty.
His desk had been disturbed.
Papers were scattered across the floor.
Anastasia's heart began beating faster.
"Dad?"
She searched the room.
Then she saw something on the desk.
A photograph.
She picked it up.
It showed herself as a teenager.
Standing beside Lucian.
On the back was a handwritten message.
HE WILL REMEMBER YOU FIRST.
Anastasia dropped the photograph.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
If Lucian remembers what happened between you two, your father won't be the only person in danger.
Anastasia stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
And whatever you do...
She waited.
The final message arrived.
DO NOT LET HIM OPEN THE RED BOX.
Anastasia's eyes widened.
The red box.
She remembered it.
She remembered exactly where it had been hidden.
And suddenly, she knew something Lucian didn't.
The box wasn't with Adrian.
It had been hidden seven years ago.
By her.
Anastasia slowly whispered,
"Lucian..."
Her phone slipped from her hand.
Because somewhere in the city, Lucian was already searching for it.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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