Page 37 of Forget Me Not
“You’ll be okay,” he says, not bothering to look up. He’s concentrating hard, a tenderness to his touch that’s at odds with the calloused skin of his hands. “Mitchell knows what he’s doing.”
I exhale as I look around. There’s no sign of Marcia. She must be upstairs, tucked away somewhere else in the house, and while Mitchell went outside earlier to gather supplies, I hear him walk in a few seconds later and I twist my neck as he enters the room, a bunch of green leaves clutched in his hand.
“What is that?” I ask, noticing the plant with blatant suspicion.
“Broadleaf plantain.”
He picks a few leaves from the stem before popping them into his mouth, gnawing hard with his back molars.
“And that’ll work?” I ask, suddenly skeptical. Wondering if I should just drive myself to the hospital now and deal with the outrageous medical bills later.
“Nature’s antivenom,” he says. “Just as good as anything you’ll get from a doctor.”
He kneels down before me, spitting the paste into his palm before slathering it onto the bite.
“The leaves neutralize and draw out the venom,” he explains as he works, dabbing at the puncture marks with his fingers. He’s being gentle, but still, I wince—from the pain, the stinging heat continuing to crawl up my leg, but also from the fact that this stuff on my skin was just in his mouth. “Antiseptic properties to soothe the area, clear out any lingering bacteria.”
He gets up and walks into the kitchen as Liam starts to wrap my ankle in gauze.
“Drink this,” he says as he returns, reentering the living room with a mug in his hand.
“And what isthat?”
“Just a little something to take the edge off.”
I grab it, bringing the cup to my lips until I’m hit with another memory, this entire experience calling to mind the very first night I sat in this chair, nursing the exact same mug of hot tea.
I lower it slowly, suddenly uneasy about this whole thing.
“You don’t just have a painkiller or something?”
“That is the painkiller,” Mitchell says, shrugging when I stay quiet like he couldn’t care less if I drank it or not. “Of course, it’s your choice, but you’ll feel a hell of a lot better with that in your system.”
I look over at Liam again, eyes diverted as he continues to wrap. My leg is still throbbing, a mounting heat as the venom seeps in, so I finally give in, returning the mug to my mouth and taking a long drink. It goes down easy, herbal and fresh, and after a few minutes,I feel my eyes start to close. My body relaxing into the chair as the pain slowly subsides.
I wake up with a dull headache, the muffled thump of my heart in my ears, and a tacky film coating my tongue like glue. Then I sit up slow and rub at my temples, the remnants of reverie skimming the back of my brain.
I had the dream again, the dream where my sister’s face replaces my own, but instead of it ending the way it usually does, her body wafting away before I wake up, this time, the visions continued to change.
I pinch my eyes shut, an attempt to memorize the details before I can forget as I visualize myself standing in front of the mirror, my head twisting in a slow circle as Natalie’s reflection did the same. Then she had turned around, her body retreating down the long hall before gliding into her bedroom; my dream-self studying her every move as she opened her window and glanced over one shoulder before hoisting both her legs out. Once she was gone, I had peered out, too, expecting to find her climbing into Jeffrey’s car… but instead, she slid into a camper and slipped off her shoes, propped her bare feet up on the dash as her eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. Our gaze locked in a weighty silence until, at last, it drove away.
I open my eyes again, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. It’s practically pitch-black in here, though the glow of the moon reflecting off the water is giving me the faintest hint of light and I finally realize I’m back in the guesthouse.
I look to the side and flip on the lamp. Then I tap at my phone resting on the side table, the illuminated screen reading four in the morning.
I have no idea how long I’ve been out—and not only that, but I have no idea how I got here.
I glance around the cabin again, trying to adjust to the sudden bright light as yesterday comes to me like a mosaic, a dozen little shards haphazardly placed to form a picture that’s disjointed and strange: sitting in the main house, Liam wrapping my ankle in gauze as Mitchell brought me that tea from the kitchen. Taking a slow, tentative sip before feeling the hot liquid gush down my throat. My limbs growing heavy as the conversation around me morphed into static until, at last, it all went dark.
I lean against the headboard, eyes on the ceiling as I think back to the first night I got here; how Marcia had been asleep in that chair as Mitchell handed me a mug then, too. The way I drank it so quickly, not wanting to be rude, before stumbling into the cabin and collapsing onto the sheets. Then I blink a few times, the room getting sharper as I recall some of Marcia’s earliest entries: meeting Mitchell in the back of that alley, a roach in his grip as he filled her heart with hope and her lungs with smoke. Waking up in his camper without remembering how she first fell asleep; her brain bubble-wrapped and her mind moving slow. My own mind starts to move faster now, though it still feels sluggish, like I’m attempting to sprint through mud. Still, I unleash my memory, letting it curl around every odd thing that’s happened since the second I stepped into this place. How Marcia often looks so groggy, so ill, and how Mitchell never wants to leave us alone. My headache that first morning, heavy like a hangover, and feeling like I could have slept for days. Back then, I thought it had just been exhaustion, the remnants of a terrible two months followed by a long twelve-hour drive… but now, I’m not so sure.
“Is hedruggingyou?” I whisper, imagining Marcia’s frail body as I realize: he might be drugging me, too.
I fling off the covers and look down at my legs, more muddled memories trying to make themselves known. Liam helping me out of that chair, walking me slowly across the yard beforeeasing my body into this bed. I’m still fully clothed, still in my dirt-streaked shirt and shorts from before, and I eye the gauze wound tight around my ankle before sitting up further, my fingers shaking as I start to unwrap. The fabric is stuck to my skin, sweat and pus making it gummy and wet, though when I finally get the whole thing off, I can see the green leaves inside have turned putrid and black and already, the bite looks so much better.
The swelling has subsided, the searing pain from before muted into a throb.
I exhale, pushing my fingers through my hair as I wonder why Mitchell would actually help me if he had any intention of causing me harm. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does, and I turn to the side, trying to decide what I should do, when I notice the diary peering out from beneath the damp sheets.
