Runner

A pounding works its way through my subconscious until it forces my eyes open, rippling through my skull like the distant thud of a drum. My eyes flicker around my surroundings, but find nothing recognizable.

An overhead fan spins slowly, lazily chasing the air around the room. The sunlight is expunged by lavish, dark drapes. All the covers of the bed I’m on are tossed aside, balled up to the side of me.

I slowly push myself up, a sudden stab of pain racing up my spine. I flop back against the pillows, surveying myself. Dirt is caked under my nails; my auburn hair is a knotted mess falling over my shoulders. I’m lost under a layer of suet, dusty like the vacant section of a library.

The sound of people downstairs confuses me even more – how did I get here?

The thought of laying among decaying leaves and broken twigs flashes through my mind. I recall the brisk smell of the crisp air and looking up at the tall trees where the full moon peaked out from behind the branches above me.

Forget how I got here, I think, glancing around the room again. Where am I?

The click of the door opening startles me, and I scurry to stand but the act is futile. My limbs are weak and useless, as if there’s nothing of substance within them. I drop back onto the bed, my eyes fixed on the door as it slowly opens.

“Oh,” she says the moment she enters the room. “You’re awake.”

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice unfamiliar to my ears as it scratches up my throat and comes out in a dry rasp.

“Fleur,” she answers without hesitation. She takes another step into the room, her footsteps quiet and graceful. She moves with fluidity, like a leaf drifting through the wind completely undisturbed. Her eyes match the sky, wide and blue and shaded under a thick layer of dark lashes. Her eyes dart to avoid mine, her head tipping slightly downcast. Her golden hair has a life of its own, hanging down around her waist as she makes another step toward me. “And who are you?”

My eyebrows knit together at the question, a slight surprise itching at me. “You don’t know?” I ask.

“Should I?” she returns with a question.

I settle back slightly, deciding she wasn’t much of a threat. She doesn’t move with malice, like she’s set after me, but with caution as if I’m the dangerous one.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she reminds me.

“I…,” I frown. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

I don’t know anything.

Fleur disappears from the room within a moment, I can hear the creak of the floorboards and her feet padding down the steps before the noise doubles, and the room is flooded with more people.

“Hello,” the man greets me pleasantly, taking a few careful steps toward me. His skin radiates warmth and is dark, almost caramelized against the white sheets as he kneels down before the bed. “Do you mind if I…?”

His sentence drops off and he just leans over and grips my chin, flashing a light in my eyes briefly. I attempt to pull back but his grip keeps me locked there, immobilized.

“You said she didn’t remember?” he asks, his brown eyes flickering behind him to where Fleur stands.

“Yes.”

“Might just be amnesia,” he answers, and then turns his attention back to me. “You don’t remember your name?”

My brain is a slate of emptiness, no information within an arm’s length, at ready use. It’s like everything has been erased. “No,” I reply.

“How about your hometown?”

“No,” I answer. “You don’t know?”

A little surprise sparks in his eyes and he shakes his head. “No. We don’t know.”

“But… How did I get here?”

His lips press into a thin line. “We found you in the forest, wrapped in a carpet. I’m sure that this lapse in memory is simply temporary. There was no real damage to your skull.” He puts the flashlight toward my eyes again before he puts it away. “All in due time, all in due time.”

The headache works its way back to the forefront of my thoughts, rapping against my skull harshly. “So you don’t know anything either?”

“No,” he says simply, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “We’ve just been calling you Runner.”