Page 21 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

I look up at Ezra, letting myself be vulnerable. His own expression softens as he looks down at me. “I’m sure this is stirring up a lot of old feelings. It’s okay to be emotional about it.”

I bite my lip and nod, ignoring the prick of guilt as I swallow my fear.

Chapter Twelve

Step, scrape.

I wake in the middle of the night to a sound outside of my door. A heavy footstep, like a man’s boot, followed by a metallic scraping of something being dragged across the floor.

The photograph of the bloodied axe flashes through my mind.

Step, scrape.

Step, scrape.

I clutch my covers to my chest, straining to see in the darkness. My bedroom door is open, moonlight streaming through my window, but there is nothing in the hallway outside. My breath fogs in the air.Cold, I’m always so cold.

“Hello?” I whisper.

Step. A floorboard creaks just outside of my door.Scraaape…

* * *

I gasp awake to sunlight and blink back confusion and exhaustion. Was that…a nightmare? A memory? I climb out of bed, rubbing my eyes, and pause. There, in the floorboards beside my bed, is an old scuff mark, like something was dragged across it. Something metal.The axe.

I swallow hard and reach for a sweater. It’s awfully cold in here.

Despite the lingering disquiet, a few hours later I’m back at the MRF, ready to be hypnotized again. I’m not sure what happened yesterday, and I haven’t told Ezra what happened last night…but I’m not ready to give up.

I can’t deny that I’m terrified of going back into my memories. But I need to remember what happened between me and Dorian. My gut tells me that this is the only way to save him from fading. Ezra seems to think that this is all about a chance for me to say goodbye to Dorian, but I know I can convince him that Dorian belongs with me, if only I can remember enough to prove it.

And like Ezra keeps saying, it’s not as though a memory can hurt me. Whatever I find in my own head, it’s already happened.

“You sure you’re ready to try again?” Ezra asks, looking up from his notebook. “We can give it a few days. Memories may start coming back to you naturally.”

I shake my head. “We don’t know how much time we have before Dorian fades. I can handle this.” I have to be able to handle it.

“Then let’s begin.”

It’s easier this time. It takes hardly any effort on my part. I just let myself be led by Ezra’s words, and I’m back in the house of my memories.

It seems even more real than the first time. I can see the dust lining the portraits on the walls, smell the musty scent of a house left empty for too long. The attic access hatch is still there, but it’s quiet.

“Remember that you’re the one in control here.” Ezra’s disembodied voice echoes down the hallway. “This is your mind. These are your memories. Your intent and emotions will guide you through.”

I nod, though I know he can’t see me here. My intent… I shut my eyes and think. “I want to see a happy memory,” I murmur. “I want to see the bond that I’ve forgotten.” Holding that in mind, I move forward with my eyes still shut, stopping in front of a door that feels right, and twist the handle.

When I open my eyes, there is a young version of myself sitting cross-legged on the floor of the attic, reading a book while the record player sings softly in the background. Dorian sits behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder, peering out from behind his mask. He’s young, too, slim-shouldered and barely taller than I am. It’s strange to see him like this, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with only two hands instead of four. At a glance, we could almost be two normal children playing together, except for the mask he wears.

With a sudden jolt, I’m living this memory instead of watching it play out. I shut the book and sigh, setting it aside.

“So romantic,” I say. “I wish my life could be like that.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Dorian asks—a boyish voice with a whisper of static, coming through the record player while his mouth moves.

“You know why,” I say sullenly.

I let out a low whine of protest as he pulls away from my shoulder. But he stands only to bow dramatically and offer a gloved hand to help me up.

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