Chapter 2
1649 Words
THE THINGS SHE COULDN'T REMEMBER
Scarlett did not go to her assignment immediately.
She told herself it was because she had other things to do.
That was a lie.
She simply wasn't ready.
She sat on the edge of her bed that afternoon, the assignment card resting beside her. The photograph was face down now, but she could still picture the girl in it.
Ash Desiree Solidum.
There was something about her.
Something Scarlett couldn't explain.
She picked up the card again.
The photograph was ordinary. The address was ordinary. Even the assignment number was ordinary.
Nothing about it should have bothered her.
And yet, the longer she looked at it, the stranger she felt.
Scarlett turned the photograph over.
She stared at Ash's face.
For a second, something flickered through her mind.
A window.
Snow.
Someone laughing.
Then it disappeared.
Scarlett froze.
She blinked several times.
Nothing.
Her room was exactly as it had been.
The small wooden table beside her bed. The crooked lamp. The stack of books she never finished reading. The jacket hanging from the back of her chair.
She pressed two fingers against her temple.
“Okay.”
She closed her eyes.
“Come back.”
Nothing.
She tried again.
Snow.
A window.
A voice.
Still nothing.
Scarlett opened her eyes.
Her heart was beating.
That was impossible.
She knew that.
Spirits didn't have hearts that worked the way living people's did.
And yet sometimes she could swear she felt hers pounding inside her chest.
She hated those moments.
They made her wonder whether death had actually changed her or whether she had simply forgotten how to be alive.
A knock came at her door.
“Scarlett?”
She quickly turned the photograph over.
“Come in.”
Elias opened the door and leaned against the frame.
“You've been in here for hours.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“That's unfortunate.”
He stared at her.
“You're avoiding the assignment.”
“No.”
“You haven't even left the house.”
“I was preparing.”
“For what?”
“Emotionally.”
Elias laughed.
Scarlett threw a pillow at him.
He caught it.
“You're weird.”
“So are you.”
“I've accepted that.”
He tossed the pillow back onto the bed.
Then his expression changed.
“You remembered something, didn't you?”
Scarlett went quiet.
She hated how easily he noticed things.
“Maybe.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“That usually means something.”
She looked down at the photograph.
“I saw something.”
Elias pulled the chair closer and sat down.
“What?”
“Snow.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Snow?”
“And a window.”
“That could be anything.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
Scarlett hesitated.
“A voice.”
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you recognize it?”
“No.”
Elias studied her face.
Scarlett looked away.
“I don't even know if it was a memory.”
He didn't answer immediately.
That was one of the things she appreciated about him.
He didn't tell her what she wanted to hear.
He also didn't tell her that she was imagining things.
He simply stayed.
After a while, he asked, “Do you remember what happened when you first arrived?”
Scarlett frowned.
“No.”
“Anything?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing before waking up here.”
Elias looked toward the window.
“That's unusual.”
Scarlett's eyes narrowed.
“You've said that before.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me why.”
He sighed.
“Because most spirits remember something.”
“How much?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“The person.”
Scarlett waited.
Elias continued.
“Some remember their whole lives. Some remember pieces. A name. A face. A house. A song. Sometimes just one moment.”
“And me?”
“You remember your name.”
“That's it.”
“That's it.”
Scarlett leaned back against the wall.
The silence between them felt heavier than it should have.
“So what happens if I never remember?”
Elias didn't answer.
Scarlett looked at him.
“Elias.”
“You know what happens.”
“I want you to say it.”
He looked down at his hands.
“If a spirit can't recover their memories... they stay lost.”
“Lost where?”
“Here.”
Scarlett stared at him.
“For how long?”
Elias hesitated.
“As long as it takes.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is.”
She hated that.
The uncertainty was worse than anything else.
She had been dead for eight months.
Eight months without knowing who she had been.
Eight months without knowing whether anyone had loved her.
Eight months without knowing whether she had loved anyone.
Sometimes Scarlett wondered if she had been a terrible person.
Maybe that was why she couldn't remember.
Maybe her memories had disappeared because there was nothing worth remembering.
But sometimes, in the quietest moments, she felt something else.
A strange ache.
A longing for something she couldn't name.
She had no idea who she missed.
That was the cruelest part.
Missing someone without knowing who they were.
Elias stood.
“You should rest.”
“I don't get tired.”
“You still like pretending you do.”
Scarlett smiled faintly.
“It's comforting.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Scarlett?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't force the memories.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes they come back when you're not looking for them.”
Then he left.
Scarlett remained sitting on her bed.
She looked at the photograph again.
Ash.
The name felt unfamiliar.
But the face didn't.
That bothered her.
She stood and walked toward the mirror.
Her reflection looked exactly the same as it had every day since she arrived.
Long dark hair.
Pale skin.
Eyes that always seemed more tired than she felt.
She touched the glass.
Nothing.
She wondered what she had looked like before death.
Had she smiled more?
Had she been happier?
Had someone once looked at her the way she looked at Ash's photograph?
Scarlett pulled her hand away.
“Stop it.”
She returned the photograph to the table.
She wouldn't think about it anymore.
At least, that was what she told herself.
The next morning, Scarlett went back to the Registry.
She didn't know why.
Maybe she wanted answers.
Maybe she was bored.
Or maybe some part of her was afraid that if she stopped searching, she would eventually forget that she had ever wanted to remember.
The Registry was quieter than usual.
She approached the same woman from the previous day.
“Can I see my record?”
The woman looked up.
“Your record?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I want to know what was documented when I arrived.”
The woman stared at her for a moment.
Then she reached beneath the desk.
She brought out a thin folder.
Scarlett took it.
Her name was written across the front.
FEROLINO, SCARLETT EZO.
Her hands suddenly felt cold.
She opened it.
The first page contained the usual information.
Name.
Date of arrival.
Classification.
Current status.
Nothing unusual.
She turned the page.
Then another.
There were no details about her death.
No location.
No cause.
No final memory.
Nothing.
Scarlett frowned.
“That's all?”
“Yes.”
“There's nothing about my life?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The woman shrugged.
“Because there wasn't anything available.”
Scarlett flipped through the pages again.
She reached the final sheet.
It was almost completely blank.
Almost.
There was a single line near the bottom.
Scarlett stopped breathing.
MEMORY STATUS: INTERRUPTED.
She read it again.
Then again.
“What's this?”
The woman looked at the page.
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Scarlett noticed.
“What does interrupted mean?”
The woman took the folder from her.
“It's an old classification.”
“Old?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't I heard of it?”
“Because it isn't commonly used anymore.”
“Why?”
The woman closed the folder.
“Your assignment is waiting.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“It wasn't meant to.”
Scarlett stared at her.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
Not just with her memories.
With the record.
With the way people reacted whenever she asked about her past.
As she walked away from the desk, she glanced back.
The woman was already speaking to another spirit.
But she kept looking toward Scarlett.
Scarlett left the Registry with the uncomfortable feeling that someone had just hidden something from her.
Outside, the sky remained its usual pale gray.
She walked slowly through the streets.
For the first time in months, Amnes didn't feel familiar.
It felt like a place full of locked doors.
And somewhere behind one of them was the life she had forgotten.
Scarlett stopped walking.
A strange sound drifted through the street.
A child's laughter.
She turned.
Nothing.
Then, suddenly—
Snow.
A white field.
A pair of hands.
A woman's voice whispering something she couldn't understand.
Scarlett stumbled backward.
The vision vanished.
Her breathing became uneven.
She looked around.
The street was empty.
No snow.
No hands.
No voice.
Only the gray buildings of Amnes.
Scarlett pressed her palm against her chest.
For the first time since she died, she wasn't afraid of forgetting.
She was afraid of remembering.
Because whatever was waiting inside those missing pieces of her life...
Someone had made sure she couldn't reach them.
And Scarlett was beginning to suspect that it wasn't an accident.
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