Page 116 of Amnesty

“Not yet.”

“I had another memory,” she informed me. Her voice was low, scared to even bring it up.

“Because you saw Widow West,” I whispered.

“She’s the only one with answers.” Am defended herself. “I had to try.”

“Seeing her triggered a memory.” My voice was flat and unhappy.

Amnesia pushed up in my lap, sitting so we were face to face. “No,” she refuted. “It was what she said.”

My eyebrows shot up. “She woke up?”

She nodded. “I told her about Sadie, Robbie… everything. I begged her to tell me where he might be. At first, I thought she couldn’t hear me, but then… she replied.”

“What did she say?” I demanded.

“It’s her son,” Amnesia intoned, dropping back against my chest. Her fingers returned to the front of my shirt, twisting the fabric. “The man who kidnapped us, it’s Widow West’s son.”

“Her son,” I echoed. My mind was spinning. “But…”

“I know. The headstone we saw. She must have had a baby who died… before she hadhim.” Then almost to herself, Am added, “It’s why she didn’t want to lose him. Too much loss.”

“Daniel,” I whispered.

“Who?”

“That’s his name.” I glanced down. “Sadie told me.”

“I didn’t remember.”

“She said you weren’t allowed to call him that,” I explained, trying to make her feel better about not knowing.

Amnesia shivered into me. “He’s not well. There’s something wrong with him.”

I grunted. That much was blatantly obvious. No one in their right mind would do to them what that sick fuck had done. “What else did she say, Am?”

“Not much, really. She wanted to know where he was. Seemed almost desperate we find him. I got the feeling she was scared he was out there… unsupervised.”

I made a rude sound, my chest jerking with the force of it. “Yeah, ‘cause he was so much more in control when she wassupervisinghim.”

Amnesia tilted her head up. “I think… I think maybe he was.”

My jaw clenched. “What did you remember?”

Her voice slipped into monotone, her limbs rigid even though I tried to comfort her.

“She helped me one night, gave me first aid on an…” She glanced up, timid. “An injury on my shoulder—”

I was the one who was rigid now. “What kind of injury?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes.” I shook her lightly, trying to make her understand. “Yes, I do.”

I had to know. I had to at least try and understand, to be burdened with the same memories as her. She wasn’t alone anymore. I would shoulder this with her.

“It was a bite.” Her voice was strained. Tired. “He liked to bite me… chew on my skin.”

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