Page 14 of Redemption

Gawain

Ithought I’d be exhausted after the extraction detail, and I’d sleep soundly, but I’ve been lying here for a few hours tossing and turning, listening out for Megan. Her room is next door to mine, and I’ve left the doors to both rooms open in case she should need me. She took two of the sleeping pills the doctor gave her shortly after he left, and I haven’t heard anything from her since. I know it’s early evening now, and my mind is too busy figuring out how to find M and castrate him for sleep to come to me. So instead, I get up, dress in joggers and a t-shirt, and go in search of coffee and dinner. I’m going to need caffeine to get through the next few hours until, hopefully, I can finally get some sleep. I spoke to Arthur earlier, and he has some of the others searching for more information on our missing man. My instructions at present are to stay with Megan and help her recover as best as I can. Arthur’s pulling out all the stops to end this—it’s from him I learned all my determination.

I enter the kitchen, open a cupboard, and put some hot water on to start boiling. I’ve lived by myself for long enough that I’ve learned how to cook. It’s none of those high-class meals you get in posh restaurants, but I’m good at throwing a decent pasta meal together. I open the fridge and pull out some bacon, onions, garlic, parmesan, and eggs. I place them on the kitchen counter and grab a packet of pasta. Having filled a pan with salted water, I toss the pasta in to start cooking while I prepare the other ingredients. A light pattering of feet draws my attention to the stairs. Megan stands there in her baggy pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologize, placing the knife down and walking over to her when she stumbles on wobbly legs and collapses into a chair. “You didn’t wake me. I’m feeling a bit weak.”

“You probably need food. I’m making pasta. Would you like some?”

She rubs her belly when it gurgles, proclaiming its need for sustenance.

“I haven’t had pasta since…” She goes quiet, and I know instantly it’s because it was before she was taken.

“Well you’ve never had my carbonara before. It’s spectacular!” I do a silly finger kissing thing, and a slight smile turns the corners of her full lips up, lighting up her face.

“How can I refuse such a glowing testament? I’ll just have a small bowl, though. I don’t think I’m ready to eat lots.”

“Not a problem.” I bow to her and stride purposefully back to the kitchen. In no time at all, we’re both sitting on the sofa, tucking into a meal. My bowl is almost three times the size of hers, but I’m in need of carbohydrates. I’ll work them all off in my home gym before I go to sleep.

“I’ll have to see if I can remember how to make Swedish meatballs for you.” Megan says as she twirls the pasta around her fork and pops some into her mouth.

I’ve heard before of a traumatic event causing amnesia. It’s the body’s way of protecting the good memories and not having them confused with the bad. Over time and with therapy, everything will come back to her, but she needs to work through the horrors she’s experienced first. To confirm this, I ask, “You don’t remember much before you were stolen?”

“Bits and pieces. I remember being taken. It’s more of a feeling than knowledge, at the moment.”

“Do you remember where you’re from in Sweden?”

“Stockholm. I lived in the city, but I wasn’t born there. It was outside in the country more. I can see my mother’s and father’s faces.”

“What did your father do?”

“He worked for the government in Sweden. He was nothing important just a finance officer, but it took him away from us a lot of the time.”

“And your mum?”

“She stayed at home and looked after me. When I went to school, she developed a cake making business. We didn’t need the money, but it kept her busy…plus I liked her cakes and got to eat lots of them.”

I let out a laugh.

Megan pauses with her fork over the bowl. She shuts her eyes and squeezes them tightly. “I don’t remember anything else.”

“Don’t push it. It’ll come. Arthur will look for your parents, and when it’s safe, we’ll get them out to see you.”

“Only when it’s safe.”

“Yes, I’m sure we can set up a call with them, in the meantime.” I finish my bowl of pasta and having placed the empty china down on the coffee table, I lean back in my chair and cross one leg over the other at the knee.

“I need time for that. I want to see them but not like this.” Megan doesn’t look up at me as she speaks. Instead, she twirls the last bit of her pasta repeatedly around her fork.

“I understand,” I reassure her as I feel the sad thoughts drifting back into her head. I need to try and dispel some of them before I lose her to the darkness of her mind, again. From the training Arthur had me undertake, the one thing I’ve learned is the importance of keeping the people we rescue focused on the positives and not negatives of their situation.

“Have you seen snow?” It’s a random question, but one I hope will work.

“Snow?” She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. “Of course I’ve seen snow, I’m from Sweden. It’s everywhere in the winter. We’re one of the countries that can actually cope with it, though. Unlike the British, whose country falls apart with just a few flakes.”

“I’ve heard about that. I’ve got a friend from England, and last year he was moaning because his son and daughter were at home for a whole week due to snow closing down their school.” I chuckle, remembering his irate calls because he couldn’t find the time to analyze the data I’d sent him. He was too busy having to build snowmen and go sledging. “I’ve never seen snow. I travel a lot, but I always seem to miss it. We don’t get much here in New Orleans. The last time we had a lot was 2004, and I was out of the country.”

“Are you from New Orleans?”

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