Page 5 of Lost Fate

“When will it go away?”

“Well, let’s see how bad it is. What’s your name?”

That’s easy. “Leander Payne.”

“Damn.” She smiles. “Hell of a name.” Her perfectly white teeth peek out from between her berry-colored lips, and any other thoughts leave my mind completely.

I’d give any memories, including my own name, to see those lips wrapped around…

“Good. Name, easy. Where are you from?”

“Florida,” I say. Then, I frown. “But I don’t know where.”

“You don’t know which pack, you mean?”

Pack… There’s an immediate feeling of revulsion in my gut at the word.

I shake my head. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“So, you’re a lone wolf then?”

“No,” I answer quickly. My head feels like shit right now, but I know that for sure I’m not a lone wolf. I have people. I just don’t remember where.

The woman stands, and she paces. She glances over at me, her amber eyes pinched with worry. “You weren’t here to, like… spy on the Oakwood pack or anything, were you?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

As the woman paces, I fight the feeling of panic that’s escalating for me. I know that she’s trying to help by helping me with my memories, but there’s a feeling in my gut that I don’t like. I feel like I’m missing something. Something that’s not only important, but crucial. Like my life depends on it.

She turns back. “How about your parents?”

“Sam and Jessica,” I respond. The memory snaps into place, and a little relief settles in me. I give her a little smile. “See. Told you I wasn’t a lone wolf.”

“Good. I think your mind might be recovering a little. Hopefully the amnesia is just short term.”

Amnesia at all sounds bad. “How short?”

Instead of answering, she folds her arms across her chest and looks at me. “Where did you go to school?”

“Homeschooled.” Also right. The feeling in my chest lightens even more.

“Parents still alive?”

I frown. “Yeah. But I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Why?”

I have no idea, but I remember my mother giving me a tearful goodbye hug. “I think I… left them. To do something. That was going to take me a while.” I’m talking like a robot, but with each sentence, more memories sharpen and snap into focus.

She gives a sharp nod. “Interesting. Favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Favorite food?”

I give her a little smile. “Steak.”

The questions continue until I figure out what she’s doing. She’s trying to pinpoint the moment of my memory loss, to see how far back it goes. It’s a smart strategy.

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