MirrorWorld

I place a hand on her cheek, and she leans into it. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. Then my body goes rigid as a fresh cascade of memories is unleashed.

She pulls my hand from her face. “Did you remember something?”

“A lot. But nothing important.” I rub my head, feeling a fresh headache brewing. “I didn’t … break things off before. Why not?”

She stands, returning to her usual professional demeanor. “That was the day you decided to forget. About me. About Maya. Your son. And everything else that mattered to you.”

She’s growing angry. Borderline pissed. These are the emotions that fueled her earlier attempt to physically subdue me. Given what I now remember about her, I’m glad she wasn’t seriously injured during that failed effort.

“That doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t sound like me,” I say, but I’m still not positive. Out of a lifetime of memories, I think I’ve recovered maybe thirty percent, most of that being from childhood.

“How is he?” It’s Allenby, in the doorway. Her hair is loose and billowing. The sight punts pain into the side of my head and sends me back.

* * *

“What the hell did you two do?” Allenby’s voice is loud in the phone. I pull the device away from my ear.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “What happened?”

“They got Hugh!” she shouts.

“Who got him?” I ask, but I already know the answer. There’s only one they she’d associate with me. The Dread. “Are you safe?”

“Don’t worry about me, you—”

The office door — my office door — bursts open. It’s Lyons. His cheeks are flush.

I point to the phone, “It’s Kelly, she’s—”

“I know,” he says, moving past me to my computer. I can hear my aunt shouting but can’t make out the words. Lyons steps away from the computer, revealing the screen and a single photo. The phone lowers away from my ear. I have a thousand questions but am too stunned to ask all but one. “When?”

“Ten minutes ago,” he says.

I stare at the photo depicting my parents, both dead. My father lies on a concrete walkway, a pool of blood around his supine body. I recognize the hotel in the background. They were on vacation. I helped pick the spot. In the background is a second body, soaked and surrounded by a puddle of water.

“They’re targeting our family.” He says it calmly, like the danger has passed for the rest of us.

He doesn’t know. He thinks they’re still here.

Lyons must see the shift in my face. He asks, “What is it?”

I stand. “Maya and Simon went back to the house. Simon wanted one last night in his room.”

“But…” He looks bewildered. Panicked. “They were supposed to be here. I told them to stay here!”

I can hear the distant voice of Allenby on the phone. She’s heard and is shouting at me to go. “Get Simon, Josef! Get them both!”

* * *

I’m on my knees, gripping my head.

“What happened?” Allenby’s voice is clear now. Present.

“A memory,” I say. “A hard one.” I’m glad I don’t yet remember what happened next. My stomach clenches with the knowledge that it, too, will soon be unleashed. The memories I’ve regained are already enough to spur me into action. I remember my son. The depth of my love for him and the pain of his loss. I know what the Dread took from me. From my family. And, like Allenby hoped, it is enough to make me face my newfound fears.

No, I think, I don’t want to face them. I want to obliterate them.

The unanswered question is, Why did I run from them in the past?

Knowing that the answer will eventually be freed by changing scar tissue, I decide to waste no time or energy trying to uncover it. Given the look in Allenby’s eyes, I think time is something I don’t have.

Allenby gets her hands under my arms and lifts. I stand with her. “We need to go.”

I understand her urgency. Maya’s kidnapping now weighs heavily on me. The idea of losing her, for good, and in such a horrible way, after betraying her trust all those years ago, is unacceptable. But where there was urgency before, there now seems to be a ticking clock. “What’s changed?”

Allenby heads for the door. I follow, shakily at first, but then steadied by Winters’s hand on my back.

“They’re on their way here,” Allenby says, looking over her shoulder.

“Who is?”

“Dread Squad.”

I’m about to say that’s a good thing when I realize the implications of her fear. They’re not on their way to help; they’re coming to stop us.

“I spoke to Lyons,” Allenby says. “He sounded … different. Angry.”

“He thinks they killed Maya?” I ask.

She nods. “But I think it’s more than that. He seemed more upset about the attack. Compared it to Pearl Harbor. Said the Dread had awakened a sleeping giant.”

“He’s been comparing the Dread to World War Two Japan,” I say. “Sees this as the first wave of an invasion.”