Page 128 of Valkyrie Unknown

The watch face inside was marked off with sixty tiny lines, but there were no hands or numbers.

Why didn’t it tell time?

“It’s damaged.” Mom’s voice, even as a memory, ached through every inch of me.

“It doesn’t look damaged,” I’d argued.“Where did it come from?”

“It was your dad’s.”

The memory yanked at me. What was this place? What ever happened to that watch?

No, that wasn’t the important bit. I’d lived this before, but this wasn’t why I was here. I was supposed to be doing something else.

The attic changed, and my insides twisted into knots before my mind caught up. An old memory flashed in my mind, as fresh as the day I lived it, though I stayed kneeling in the middle of the wooden floor. I was at the side of the road, and my legs were getting cold. My hands were wet.

Slick with blood.

Mom.

She was in my arms, and there was so much blood. Her eyes were blank. Why wouldn’t she wake up?

“We need to take the body,” someone said, and a hand rested on my shoulder.

The night she was shot.

This was where I would fight and scream and refuse to let them take her away. But I didn’t want to live this again. I’d tortured myself with this memory too many times on my own.

“Can you tell me what happened?” That was the officer who investigated the shooting.

I opened my mouth to answer. I’d relived this an infinite number of times too, but this time the answer didn’t come. Something happened before this. Something I didn’t tell them. What was it?

The thought fled my mind before I could grasp the rest of it, and I was staring down at myself. There was blood dried on my jeans and staining my hands. I should’ve washed after I talked to the police, and instead, I came up here.

The place was dusty. Empty. We’d been in the process of moving. I held an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s that I’d found in the cupboard downstairs.

This was something I remembered distinctly. Next I would screw the top off the bottle, and drink until I passed out. Then I’d spend the next six or so years doing more of the same.

A bitter taste surged up my throat, while rage and frustration spilled inside. I didn’t want to be here again. I wouldn’t live that part of my life again.

When I threw the bottle at the wall, it hit with athunkand dropped to the ground. The heavy glass sat there, taunting me and stealing even the satisfaction of watching it shatter.

This wasn’t what I was doing. I’d moved on from this and had been living again. Holding onto the thought as hard as I could, I pushed to my feet.

You should’ve had the beer. The hangover isn’t as bad. The memory was more recent. As in, from a few minutes ago.

I was with Azzie and Finn. With Davyn. I needed to find them.

As I walked toward the opening that would lead me downstairs, my shoe nudged a piece of paper on the ground. This wasn’t part of the original memory. I bent to pick it up, and unfolded the blue-lined sheet.

Make it to the front door.

Great. I climbed down the ladder stairs, into a hallway that wasn’t familiar.

Why did I have a feeling getting to the front door wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought?

I followed the strip of rug that ran down the center of the hardwood, past one door and then another and then half a dozen more. How long was this floor? Should I have gone in the other direction?

I kept walking. If this was the wrong way, I’d run into a wall or something stopping me, but the path kept going. There was something ahead in the shadows, and I sprinted to reach it. As I drew closer, the ladder came into view.

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