Chapter 3: A Stranger Called Augus
828 Words
“You fixed the sink again?" Amelia asked, setting down a grocery bag.
Augus didn't look up from the cabinet. “The seal was loose. Could've leaked."
“You already fixed it twice."
“Wasn't good enough."
She arched a brow. “You're like a handyman with OCD."
“I like things… functional."
He finally stood, wiping his hands with a dishtowel. She noticed the precision in his movements—tight, clean, rehearsed.
“You ever think you might've been a soldier?"
He paused. “I have... instincts. Patterns. But no memories."
“Still no flashbacks?"
“Only flashes. Blood. A hall with marble floors. Screaming. Then… nothing."
She went quiet.
He glanced at her. “Does that scare you?"
“Should it?"
“I don't know. I scare myself sometimes."
She crossed the kitchen, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Well, as long as you're not a serial killer, you're safe here."
“I'm not," he said too quickly.
She blinked.
“I mean—I don't think I am," he added.
Amelia laughed. “Not reassuring."
But she said it gently. She meant it gently.
---
They settled into routine. Mornings began with brutal black coffee Augus insisted on brewing himself. Midday, he walked her to class, always scanning the street like it might turn against them.
“You're on edge today," she said once.
He didn't answer, just guided her around a pothole and kept walking.
He read her textbooks faster than she could, filling margins with notes in strangely elegant handwriting.
“Where'd you learn economics?"
“I don't know," he murmured. “But it makes sense. All of it."
At night, he cooked strange, perfect meals—pasta with wild garlic, dumplings folded with surgical precision. She never asked how he knew them. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
One evening, while they studied under a flickering desk lamp, she said, “You don't have to stay, you know."
He looked up, startled. “What?"
“You're not my prisoner."
“I want to stay," he said instantly.
“Why?"
He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
She waited.
“Because when I'm here, I don't feel… lost."
Her breath caught.
She looked away. “Good. Because I don't think I'm ready to lose you either."
---
It was almost midnight when the first call came.
Unknown number.
Amelia silenced it.
The second one came thirty minutes later.
This time, Augus grabbed the phone. “Don't answer strange numbers."
“You think I'm being followed?"
His jaw tightened. “I don't like coincidences."
She hesitated. “You think someone's looking for you?"
“I know they are."
“What do you remember?"
His voice dropped. “Gunshots. A woman screaming. A ring… emerald, I think. Slipped onto my finger. Against my will."
She swallowed. “A wife?"
“I don't know."
He looked at her, something dark shifting behind his eyes. “But I don't want to go back. To whoever I was."
She stepped closer. “You're safe here. With me."
“I don't want to be safe," he murmured. “I want to stay yours."
Her heart stuttered.
“Augus—"
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You named me. That has power, doesn't it?"
“It was a joke."
“Not to me."
Their faces were inches apart.
She whispered, “Then stay."
He did.
---
One night, the power cut out again.
Candlelight flickered across his jaw. Shadows danced in his eyes.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, wine glasses balanced on textbooks.
“You ever think about the future?" she asked.
He stared at the flame. “Every day."
“Even without your memories?"
He nodded. “Especially without them. A future means I don't have to remember."
She smiled sadly. “I want a job. A real apartment. A couch that doesn't collapse when I breathe."
“I'll buy you a couch someday."
She laughed. “You don't even have a bank account."
“I'll get one."
“Then what?"
He looked at her. “Then I'll ask you to marry me."
She froze.
He smiled faintly. “Unless you've changed your mind."
Her voice was soft. “I never meant it seriously."
“I did."
Silence.
Her fingers curled around the stem of the glass.
“Do you think this is real?" she asked. “Or just… convenient? Trauma bonding?"
“I don't know." His voice was quiet. “But when I wake up screaming, I always reach for your hand. And it always makes the nightmares stop."
She blinked fast. “That sounds real to me."
Outside, rain drummed the windows.
Neither noticed the red dot blinking faintly beneath the hood of a black sedan parked across the street.
Inside the vehicle, a man watched through a scope. His gloved finger hovered above a button labeled: “RETRIEVE."
The voice in his earpiece crackled again. “Orders confirmed. Proceed."
- Writer
