The Remembered by Michael J Sanford

Author:Michael J Sanford [Sanford, Michael J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-04-30T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WYATT FLIPPED THROUGH the dog-eared comic book, dumbfounded. How many times had he read it? A hundred? A thousand? There was no way to know, but Wyatt hadn't even thought about it since...since he named the bog imp by the moniker of the comic's hero—Grenleck. Somehow, the vibrant fiction of the comic paled in comparison to the richness of the Realms, and it had left his mind shortly thereafter. But how could it have? There was nothing more important from his childhood than the story laid out in colored panels, among dialogue bubbles and bold zips, hisses, and bangs.

"Wyatt, why the hell haven't you cleaned this room?"

The voice shook the comic from Wyatt's hands and he bolted upright to find himself looking into the reproachful eyes of his grandmother. Grandma? he wanted to ask, but his lips wouldn't obey his mind. Instead they said, "I'll clean it when I'm done. Grenleck is just about to slay the—"

"Dammit, Wyatt," his grandmother shouted, gesturing about at the horrid disarray of his bedroom.

How did I get here? And how is she...

"I'll do it when I'm done," Wyatt shouted back.

What? No, I didn't mean that, Grandma. I don't know why I said that.

"Fine," his grandmother said. "Clean or don't. But you're not getting a lick of food until this room is clean enough to eat your dinner off of."

Wyatt tried to stand up from the frameless mattress he was sitting on. He tried to run to her, to say he was sorry, and to hug her as fiercely as he could muster. But his body wouldn't move. His mind raced, but Wyatt couldn't get it to affect his limbs or lips.

"I'd rather starve than eat more burned crap," he shouted as his grandmother slammed his door shut, causing a framed photo to jump off his half-buried dresser.

Wyatt moved at that, sliding across the carpet to scoop up the item. The glass had broken, but the photo within remained intact. It showed a smiling Wyatt, holding an equally joyous Lucy, both surrounded by clearly proud parents.

Mom... Dad... Lucy...

It's a memory, he realized. It's my memory.

Wyatt touched each figure in the photo with his finger and sat back on his heels, studying the portrait. "I'm going to find you," he whispered. "Whoever you are you, I'll find you, and we'll be a family."

I've already forgotten them, Wyatt realized.

Longing pulled at his chest, reaching deep inside and twisting his soul into a knot. His body shuddered under sudden tears.

How did I forget this?

The room shuddered. His body didn't seem to take notice, but his mind did, painfully aware of what a tremor usually meant. Though even if he had the control to stop the transition, he wouldn't have. If he was reliving a memory like this...then it could only mean one thing. Lucy was alive. Alive and dreaming. He forced his mind to relax, hoping to allow his lost sister to guide him back to her. Just as a younger version of Wyatt had promised a photo, so too, did he promise once more to the world.

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