Page 21 of Lost Echoes
It’s hard to know where to begin, but I figure my journals are as good of place as any.
Her gaze goes between her tablet and me as she listens and takes notes.
I take so long going through the details of what I know, I end up ordering myself a hot tea with honey to keep me going. Customers come and go around us as I share my story in the most roundabout way, following thoughts as they pop into my mind.
She asks questions here and there, but mostly just listens and jots notes on her tablet screen. By the time I’m done, my stomach is growling and my throat is dry, as I emptied my tea at least a half hour ago.
“Does any of that help?”
Florencia nods as she sets down her tablet. “More than you can imagine. It sounds like your family is deeply entwined with the Radley institution.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryker discovers he went there too.”
“Or your niece, even though she doesn’t remember anything.”
I shake my head. “It sounds like her mom purposefully kept her away from the family.”
“Do you think she was involved with the institution?”
“Claire?” I ask. “I wouldn’t know, though nothing would surprise me at this point.”
Florencia asks more questions, some that I can’t answer because I never met Claire. Not even as a child.
As we’re wrapping up and Florencia is putting her tablet back into her bag, I turn the tables. “What have you learned from the other patients you’ve spoken with?”
She frowns. “I’m not at liberty to say. You wouldn’t want me telling others what you’ve shared with me, would you?”
“I’ve basically given you permission to share it all on a docuseries.”
“True, but at this point all I’m doing is gathering information.”
“Can you tell me anything? I desperately need answers to help Kenzi.”
Florencia’s expression turns somber.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m torn.”
That means she might help. I press my palms on the table. “How so?”
“Obviously, I want to do what I can to find answers and therefore help her and others but?—”
“Others? Are you saying she isn't the only one in a zombie-like state?”
Florencia nods. “Precisely.”
My stomach drops. “She isn’t the only one. Right now?”
“Correct. There’s something…” Florencia pauses mid-sentence, her fingers frozen above her tablet. She inhales slowly, then sets the device down like it’s suddenly too heavy. “I should probably tell you something before we go any further.” Her voice has lost its polish, stripped bare in a way that unsettles me.
My chest tightens. “What is it?”
She meets my gaze, and for a change she doesn’t look like the composed investigative reporter who breezed into the cafe. She looks… haunted. “I’m not just chasing this story from the outside.” She leans in closer and speaks barely above a whisper. “I was a Radley patient too.”
The words hit hard. My breath catches, and I grip my teacup though it’s long gone cold. “You… you were there?”
Florencia nods. A tremor runs through her hands before she hides them under the table. “Not for long. Or at least, not in any way that I can measure. My memory of it is fractured—weeks blurred into hours, hours stretched into months. Maybe even years. It’s like someone spliced my life apart and taped it back together. Things look right, but something’s wrong.”
