Page 8 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Vega slammed the door shut, not giving her another moment to speak. She flipped both locks and pinched herself for the second time in twenty-four hours—the pain was subtle.

She still wasn’t dreaming.

3

Vega’s body felt weighted down as she slumped into the living room and collapsed on the couch. She blew air through her lips in an exasperated sigh. “What the fuck is my life?”

She rolled to her side, noticing her phone on the coffee table. Had it really been there the whole time?

Reaching out, Vega paused before the phone was in her hand, distracted by the ring sitting on her phone screen. She sat up slowly, tucking her legs underneath her as she inspected the ring.

The imperfect rectangular stone in the middle sparkled like the night sky, accented with diamonds fanning out like the petals of a flower. The closer she brought the jewel to her eye, the more depth it seemed to reveal. The stone in the center was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, so otherworldly. The black color was deep, reminding her of coal under a Christmas tree. When she turned the gold band, the jewel twinkled in the daylight filtering through the open curtains.

It somehow felt familiar in her hands.

Vega spun the ring between her fingers before sliding it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Where she usually wore the wedding band she’d flushed down the toilet last night.

It fit like it was made for her.

There was no way to chalk this up to a wild dream anymore. A dream wouldn’t explain how Arlet knew so much about her.

Starting with her last name. Caelum wasn’t a name she’d had in thirteen years. When her mother died, she got what some would call “lucky,” and the home she’d been placed into as a foster wanted to adopt her immediately. Her last name changed to Brooker, but Papa Brooker, as he’d requested to be called, was a fucking creep, and getting kicked out at seventeen might have been a blessing in disguise. Her last name changed to Hughes when she married Chase at twenty-four.

Caelum was a dead name. The name didn’t even feel like hers anymore. It hadn’t been on anything she used in her adult life. Not an apartment lease, not a job application—hell, not even her college applications showed any implication of the person she’d been before being adopted.

Arlet also knew about the odd scar on her wrist. Vega’s hand slid to it, her fingers sweeping gently over the raised line. Arlet had the same scar in the exact location. What was the likelihood that two people donned a carbon copy scar on their bodies?

Her eyes wandered back to her hand, her attention focused on the ring. Arlet had left it as a little breadcrumb—a reminder that this wasn’t a delusion her brain was making up.

When she eventually picked her phone up from the table, there were eighteen missed calls and thirty-five unread texts from Chase. Vega could try and make the relationship work like he’d been begging in the texts, but the trust was gone, irreparable. Vega didn’t know what was supposed to come next, what she was supposed to do now.

Vega lay there for hours, turning over the last twenty-four hours in her mind. She was running late for work—as usual—because of it. If Bobby didn’t fire her tonight, it would be a miracle.

Doing her best to sneak in the back door of the sixties-themed diner, Vega scurried to the computer in the office to clock in.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you were over thirty minutes late?” Bobby’s gruff voice stopped her in her tracks, her hand hovering over the computer screen.

Vega sighed, turning slowly while her hand fell to her side. She’d wished thousands of times he would hire a manager for this place and disappear forever. “I’m sorry, Bobby, really. I had a bad night that turned into an even worse morning.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever get rid of this brain fog.

Bobby was a bulbous man who always smelled like stale cigarettes. His dark hair, or what was left of it, was slicked back on the sides in what Vega imagined was grease from the flat-top grill. He was in his fifties, with faded, cheap tattoos up his arms, and was currently on his fifth marriage. I should ask him who his attorney is. Vega pursed her lips together, holding back a bitter laugh at the thought.

“It’s always a bad day for you. What other excuse do you have?” The large man tapped his foot impatiently.

Vega knew she owed him an explanation. “I walked in on Chase cheating on me last night.” She lowered her voice in embarrassment, eyes darting to the floor to avoid the lack of empathy on Bobby’s face.

“I’m not surprised,” he spat.

Bobby’s words shouldn’t hurt her, but they did. Vega inhaled deeply and met his dark eyes. “Should I clock in, or would you like to add to my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day by firing me?” Vega cocked her head, waiting for his response.

He didn’t get the reference, slanting his eyes at her. “You get one more chance, Vega.” He held up a nubby finger as emphasis. “One. If you mess it up, you’re gone. Do you understand?” Bobby scolded her like she was a kindergartener.

She nodded, turning to the computer screen to clock in, and tied her apron around her blue diner dress uniform. “I hear you loud and clear.” Vega’s jaw was set in a hard line, teeth grinding against each other.

“Good, now get out there and help Susan. She’s gonna be so pissed at me that I didn’t fire you.” Bobby glared at her until she was through the swinging doors.

The shift went by almost as slowly as Susan moved between her tables. That would be Vega—sixty-two years old, still serving tables at a sullied diner because she couldn’t afford to retire.

The woman sneered at Vega, bumping against her at the coffee station. “You’re in the way,” she said, her tone sharp.

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