Day Two - February 2 1998
I wake up, still feeling the heartbreak of that memory. The rest of the funeral was a blur, I can only remember snippets. My dad passed not long before I’d graduated high school. I remember his death, the furore that surrounded it. The relentless media coverage of his murder.
I sit up quickly and get out of bed, I walk down the hallway as quietly as I can. I knock lightly on Maida’s door but there's no response. I knock a little louder. I hear feet shuffling on the other side of the door, it creaks open slowly. Maida looks more like the living dead than I do.
“Sorry to wake you.” I whisper.
“It’s fine, this place gives me the creeps, I can’t get to sleep anyway.” Maida stretches and opens the door wider. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” I walk in and close the door behind me.
“What’s up?” Maida yawns, rubbing her eyes.
“I remembered something. I’m starting to remember quite a lot now actually.”
“Oh yeah? What did you remember?”
“Some stuff about my father.”
“Interesting.”
“I remembered his funeral. He was murdered.”
“What?” Maida’s eyes widen. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Wait, what was his name?”
“Hamilton Taylor.”
“That name sounds familiar. I think it was on the news ages back when I was a kid. I don’t think they ever figured out who did it.”
I sit down on the bed and stare out Maida’s window. Her room has a similar view to mine. “It’s a lot.”
“Hmm. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it all out.” Maida says trying to stifle a yawn.
“Do you think there’s a way to find out more about my dad’s death?”
“Uh, maybe they have some articles at the library or something? We can go there later today. We could ask around but that might attract the wrong sort of attention.”
“Okay. That sounds good. I’ll let you try to get some more sleep.” Maida nods and gets back into bed, I leave the room, walking back to my own.
I lay on top of the bed but can’t get to sleep. I watch the alarm clock on the bedside table, watching the minutes tick by, very aware that I don’t have a lot of time. When it hits eight I get dressed and make my way down to the dining room. Maida’s already at the table eating waffles. My mother is nowhere to be found. Agnes appears and asks me if I want anything for breakfast, I decline. She insists and hands me a bagel, I thank her and sit down next to Maida.
“When did you want to go?” I ask.
“I don’t think it’ll be open yet but we can head off soon if you’d like.” Maida says pouring a pool of syrup on her waffles.
I can’t wait to get into town and do some research. Maida finishes up her meal and grabs two bagels to go.
We both grab our coats from the hooks near the door and walk to her car. It’s even colder than yesterday, we get in the car and wait for the heater to defrost the windscreen before driving into town.
When we get there Maida parks in front of the Lake View cafe, she wants to get some coffee.
“I’m going to need coffee if I’m going to have to read.” She yawns again.
“Didn’t you just have coffee?”
Maida nods. We get out of the car, it’s freezing outside, and walk briskly towards the warmth of the cafe. Esther is standing behind the counter. “Hey, guys.” She smiles as she wipes down the counter in front of her.
“It’s a lovely day today.” Maida says sarcastically.
“Oh yeah.” Esther laughs. “They say you get used to it but you never do.”
Maida asks for some coffee and we chat for a bit. I can’t relax and say we need to go, I head for the door and Maida follows me.
“Oh hey wait.” Esther yells out, her head poking out the door. “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight for the party. Be ready, don’t keep me waiting like you usually do.”
“We won’t, don’t worry!” Maida calls back. As we walk down the street she turns to me. “I guess now we know you were late all the time.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose.”
Maida and I make our way to the library, it’s a short walk but it isn’t open for another half hour. We sit on a bench outside and wait in the cold. When it hits half past nine we get up and stand by the entrance. An older woman unlocks the door from the other side looking suspiciously out at us both. When she walks away we step inside. Like most buildings in town, the library is confined to just one room, old metal shelves are strewn about, they hold faded books of every colour with yellowing pages. A computer sits on a small desk at the end of one shelf, a single varnished wooden chair in front. I go to the computer and sit down. Maida pulls another chair over from under a table, dragging its back legs against the floor, producing jarring scraping sounds. The librarian looks over disapprovingly and shushes her.
“Sorry.” Maida says loudly.
“Shhhhhhhh!” The old woman hisses back.
“Geez, calm down.” Maida mutters under her breath.
I click the power button at the back of the computer. The screen flashes, a loud startup sounds plays and the Windows 95 logo appears. The black Compaq computer makes clicking sounds as it starts up. A log in screen appears, I don’t know the details. I walk over to the counter, nobody is there, the shushing woman from before is gone. I ring a bell sitting on the bench top. The small woman comes out from a door in the back, she has a tight bun much like my mother's and horn-rimmed glasses, partially held together with tape. She shuffles towards me. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I would like to use the computer.” I say.
“You need to login.” She hands me a small sheet of paper with a username and password on it. “The session will last for an hour.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“Are you that girl of Lulu’s?”
All of a sudden I remember my mother’s name. Talulah. No wonder she’s so hard to get along with, having a name like that.
“Yes, uh, actually, this might seem like a weird question. Do you happen to know much about my father’s death?”
“Dear, I wouldn’t go talking about something like that.”
“Is there any information about it here?”
“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t go digging up things like that though, it’ll only upset you.”
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“Ok, thanks for your help.” I smile and raise the tiny piece of paper up, as a kind of thankful salute and make my way back to the computer.
“You know when you think of librarians, she’s pretty much exactly what you picture.” Maida says.
“She knows my mother.”
“Small town, I guess.” Maida shrugs.
I type the password in and wait for the computer to load. I open Internet Explorer and type my father’s name into the search engine, it shows me links to news articles about his company and his death. I click on the first article and begin to read.
Taylor Family Hit by Another Blow
Hamilton A. Taylor, CEO of Taylor Construction Group was found dead on Friday night in the office of his Ridgemont home in the early hours of Saturday morning. The Taylor family are not strangers to the headlines, recent accusations have been made concerning the family’s business dealings, involving millions of dollars in missing funds given to them by their investors.
Mr. Taylor’s brother Edmond was found dead three months ago, many of the family’s critics saying this is an obvious admission of guilt.
Mr Taylor, the son of Osbourne Taylor II, was 46 years old. He leaves behind a wife and two children.
It feels strange getting to know my family this way. We read article after article. I read the same information over and over but each time it feels like I’ve read it for the first time. I find nothing about my mother or her side of the family, she’s only ever mentioned in articles involving my father. My paternal grandfather was arrested for tax evasion but escaped any sentence, dying a couple of years later at home from a heart attack. Trouble seemed to follow the Taylors.
The computer session times out. “I don’t think there’s anything else for us to find.” I say.
Maida agrees. “Suppose we could go old school. Read some books or something.”
“Maybe they have some old newspapers.”
I go back to the counter. “You don’t happen to have any old newspapers or books that might mention my family.”
“I really wouldn’t go digging into all that.”
“Please, anything, I lost my memory and I really need to remember.”
“Oh dear, that’s terrible! I wish I could help you but we lost all of that stuff in the fire.”
“The fire?”
“Yes, last year. The room out the back got burned pretty badly. Electrical fault. You know who might be able to help you though, Matthew Shelby, he wrote a book about your family years ago. He doesn’t live around here anymore but I can give you his phone number. I’m sure he won’t mind talking to you.” The woman gets a notepad and a rolodex, flipping through the cards, she writes down a name and number. “Here you go.” She holds the note out in front of me.
I take the small piece of paper gratefully. “Thank you so much.”
Maida and I leave the library and amble down the street. I wrap my arms around me, it feels like it’s gotten even colder. “When do you think I’ll get my memory back?” I ask, looking down at my feet.
“Ed said it usually takes a few days to a week. It comes back faster towards the end but everybody’s different.”
“It’s weird, the more I remember the worse I feel, like I’m getting weighed down. It was a nice feeling not really knowing, I could have been anyone, my family could have been nice, friendly, normal people. Not rich people committing tax fraud.”
“Maybe they are nice, we don’t really know them that well yet.”
“Let’s get back to the house, we’ll call up that Shelby guy.”
After a short drive, I run straight up to my bedroom and Maida follows behind. I remember there being a phone by the bed, next to the alarm clock. One of those vintage gold and white ones with the rotary dial. I pick up the receiver and dial the number. It rings but nobody picks up, I get an answering machine but don’t bother to leave a message.
“He’s not home.” I sigh.
“We’ll call back later. It’s still early. I’m going downstairs to get some lunch.”
“Okay, I’m going to stay up here for a while.”
Maida leaves and the door clicks loudly behind her. I sit on the mattress, it’s lumpy and uncomfortable. I look at the red wallpaper, patches are faded and worn. It forms a strange pattern, some patches look like faces others look like flowers. The wallpaper in the dollhouse matches perfectly, I wonder how old it is?
I get up and walk around the room, I look at the bookcase, scanning the titles, a scrapbook hangs out awkwardly between a copy of Moby Dick and Alice in Wonderland. A quick flash of memory comes back to me, I recall my dad reading me Alice’s adventures before bed when I was younger. I reach up and pull the scrapbook out, it’s really seems to be stuck in there, I tug harder and dislodge an array of books surrounding it. They fall off the shelf and hit the floor, one heavy book hits my foot. I wince in pain. I kneel down and pick up the books, I stand back up and look at the shelf. One book hasn’t fallen out, I place the books back around it. Once I’ve reassembled them I take a closer look at the book that remained. I grab it, it doesn’t move, it’s really stuck. I look closer, the book has no title, it’s just a green canvas material, slightly faded around the edges. I reach up toward it and try to pull it down, I push against it, I hear a click. You’ve got to be kidding me, it’s a door. I push it open, it’s heavy, a thick cloud of dust hits me as I open it. It catches in my throat and I start to cough.
I peer inside, it’s pitch black. I look around me to see if I can find a torch, maybe there’s one in a drawer. I open cupboards, looking through assorted junk on dressers and tables. I open a drawer forcefully, a lighter rolls out toward me. I place it in my pocket. I see a candle above the fireplace, I pick it up and light it. I move forward into the cramped space with trepidation. The small space is filled with spiderwebs, they’re so old that the spiders have long moved out or died. I brush the webs off, I hate the feeling of them. The short hallway ends abruptly and a metal door with thick bolts stands before me. I try to open it but it’s stuck, I push harder and inch it open bit by bit, the door scrapes loudly against the floor. I put the candle down on the ground behind me and put all my weight into pushing the door. Eventually I make a gap big enough for me to slink through. I peek into the room, a metal table is in the centre, covered in papers, they look like blueprints.
I pick up the candle and place it on the table, it’s dim light is barely sufficient. I spot a switch near the door and click it, the fluorescent lights above begin to flicker, shortly afterwards the room is filled with stark white light. I look around, nothing stands out, a set of document drawers is under a framed painting of a boat swimming on stormy seas. It looks a bit like something by Winslow Homer, I look at the signature. H. Taylor. I guess my father tried his hand at painting.
I sit on the metal chair next to the table, flip through the blueprints, they’re for the house, two copies, at first they look the same but then I realise that they’re each a bit different to the other. One includes this room, the other doesn’t. It looks like at some point there was a plan to build a large extension on the back of the house, something that didn’t happen, at least not to my knowledge.
I get up and continue to check out the room, I look at the painting again, lifting it from its hook. I study the painting closely and look once again at the signature, tracing it with my fingers, I don’t remember my dad painting. I glance up at the wall, behind the painting is a safe. The safe looks like an antique, shiny red metal with a numbered dial. I have zero idea what the combination might be.
I hear someone calling my name. It takes me a moment to recognise the voice. My mother. My heart begins to race, I have to get out of here. I place the painting back on its hook and make my way back to the metal door, I slip through the crack and tiptoe towards the other door, it had closed behind me. I notice a small circle of light, I look closer, it’s a peephole. I glance through it and see my mother. She’s walking around the room, looking bored, opening some drawers, rifling through things, I don’t know what she’s looking for, I wonder if she knows about this room.
All of a sudden I’m back in my bedroom, I’m wearing a dress, it’s blue, there’s so much fabric. It’s an electric blue pouffy mess but I feel proud of it. I’d made it myself on an old sewing machine that I found one day sitting in the attic. Esther had bought me a pattern for my birthday and we’d gone to the city a few weeks back to buy the fabric. It was my first sewing accomplishment, if you could call it that. It looked pretty bad but the zip worked and it wasn’t falling apart, yet. That’s all the dress really needed to do, stay together. My mother had looked down on my desire to learn to sew, she said it was a waste of my time.
I’m standing in front of a dressing table, spinning in front of the mirror. The dress getting larger the faster I spin. There’s a small knock on my door, my mother doesn’t wait for a reply and barges in. She compliments the dress, saying it looks lovely, in a tone that sounds incredibly insincere. She tells me my friend Nick is here. I take one last look in the mirror and give myself a pep talk. “You’ll be fine, this’ll be fun.” I say, not convincing myself. I grab a small silver clutch and put on a matching pair of heels.
I plod down the stairs, my heels getting stuck in the thick, looped carpet. Once I reach the bottom of the stairs, my mother grabs a camera and tells me to wait there. A boy comes around the corner and joins me for the photograph, dressed in a black suit he stands next to me and puts his arm around my waist. It’s the same boy I saw in my first flashback. We both smile, the camera clicks and the flash blinds me. I try to blink away the spots. Nick hands me a corsage and puts it around my wrist. My mother pulls me aside and whispers in my ear. “Don’t screw this up!”
I blink, I’m back to the present again. My mother’s gone now, my room appears to be empty. I turn the thick metal handle on the back of the bookcase and pull the door back. I walk out and close it softly behind me. My head hurts after the flashback and I go to lie down. There’s a knock on the bedroom door, it almost gives me a heart attack.
“Elena? You in there?” It’s Maida, she opens the door and looks in.
“Come in. You scared me.” I laugh. “I remembered something else.”
“Oh yeah? Anything significant?”
I shake my head. “No, not really. I remember a bit more, high school stuff. When I’m awake the memories seem to be triggered by things.”
“How does it feel? When you remember?”
“It’s like a really bad migraine, and then I see it like it’s happening right in front of me. Like I”m reliving it in real time.”
“Do you still want to go to that party tonight?”
“Yeah, we have to go. I know who Nick is now, I remember him. He was the guy in my first flashback.”
“Well I guess you must know him pretty well then. Maybe this party will bring your memory back for good.”
“Hopefully.”