It was an elegant rustic space, yet the discomfort of the sofa beneath her had turned any thought of rest into a distant fantasy. She let out a long sigh, trying to recall where the quilts might be hidden. But the memories of this house—this life—evaded her, slinking away like shadows at dusk. Some nights, as she lay wide-eyed and restless, she questioned if she had ever truly lived at all.
The clock read six-thirty, and the horizon was ablaze with orange, the warm light enveloping the room yet constricting her movements. She had faced enough for one day. The funeral she had been coerced into attending, the throngs of wild-eyed scientists who had eagerly shared anecdotes of her parents, the relentless media horde, and the cold-eyed lawyers—all colliding into an overwhelming tide of grief and obligation. It was exhausting. It was too much. It was… enough.
"Breathe, Kalara. Count to ten," she muttered, as if the words could steady her racing heart. "Remember why you are here. Remember!" The irony hung heavy in the air; after all, memories are never completely lost, are they? They lurk in the corners of our minds, waiting for a moment of clarity. She clutched at her forehead, feeling the familiar tug of anxiety threaten to ensnare her.
Di dit!
The incessant ping of her phone startled her. Resolved to avoid any further interruptions, she reluctantly pushed herself from the sofa, reaching for it on the coffee table. The green light flashed incessantly, beckoning her like a siren's call. She despised that sound—so irritating, yet an anchor to the world outside.
"K! Sure u'll b ok?"
It was her best and only friend, Deana. A sentiment echoed through their exchanges throughout the day—before flights, after flights, during the funeral, through legal consultations, and even as she returned to this looming house filled with stillness. Deana's concern was relentless.
"Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry, okay? I'll be here just for a month at most till I sell this damn house, and then I'll come back," she replied. The words felt hollow, heavy with unspoken tension.
Di dit!
"But I am worried cus u r there alone!!"
Kalara rolled her eyes, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Her friend was, undeniably, a mother hen.
"God, it's so frustrating! Be reasonable; they are not here. Stop it!" she wanted to write, but instead settled for: "Hey, I lived here twenty years of my life. I think I'll be okay."
Di dit!
"YEAH BUT U FCKING DONT REMEMBER HOW!"
A small laugh slipped out, spiteful yet relieved. Deana did have a flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to Kalara's unsettling past. She could still envision Deana's fury when she had learned what her parents had done.
"OK, fine! Gimme a call before you come back! I will get you from the airport, alright? Good luck."
"Okay, thanks, MOM!"
"Ha! Not even funny."
"I know! Thanks! Bye."
With that, the exchange faded into silence, leaving Kalara alone once more with the remnants of her reality. She frowned, glancing at the impenetrable stack of file folders on the table. The sun's retreating rays draped the room in shades of dusk. She was free, at least. Freedom should come with relief, yet a familiar weight anchored her; fear—like a specter—reminded her that perhaps it wasn't over yet.
Her parents were gone, erased from existence, but Kalara felt anything but liberated. She felt like a marred doll, stripped of identity—no laughter, no joy, no sense of self. Memories stolen and buried under layers of horrific experimentation and manipulated memories, all lost to the drugs they had forced upon her.
She opened the file on the top of the pile and started to read.
"This is the last Will and Testament" it started. It was their last Will and Testament. Kalara wanted them dead and here she was reading their last words.
"We, the undersigned Married in Dahal and presently domiciled and resident in Dahal, do hereby declare the following to be our last Will and Testament.
We revoke, cancel and annul all previous wills, codicils or other testamentary acts heretofore made by us, whether jointly or severally." Married. The word had surprised her. You did not hear the word anymore, not in this century. Were they married for fame? Not to be able to steal their works from one another? She wondered what was written in their previous wills, what had changed. This one was dated a week after she escaped. She recalled the night she escaped pretty well. It was misty like no other. They forgot to give her whatever they always gave. Her mother a.k.a the villain was crying out loud for some reason. They were distracted. She knew that was maybe the only chance she had. Got loose from the ties, got the stuff that could make money. It never made any sense the smallest item she stole was worth of millions.
Trying to focus on the document, skipped the boring part and started reading the good part; "ARTICLE II: Money & Personal Property"
"We give all our tangible personal property and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property, to our daughter, Kalara. Our executor may pay out of our estate the expenses of delivering tangible personal property to beneficiaries. In mean to sell the property in two years, our executor has to stay at least thirty days (30 days) in a row, has to record a video for two minutes (2 minutes) explaining her day every day at a different room in the house"
So, all it would take were to stay a month in the house and record a video. Meaning another experiment or the last one per say. Maybe that's why she didn't feel accomplished. She felt scared that they might have just won. She needed the money bad. She didn't have any house to stay, didn't have friends except D which also were in lots of debts.
"Ahhh. Damn it." She yelled while tapping her right leg.
The air thickened around her as she stood and pursued the dim corridors of the house. The haunting silence echoed like a funeral bell, and she swallowed hard as she ventured toward the entrance hall. Each closed door seemed to guard dark secrets; she hesitated at the first one beneath the stairs, feeling the chill of a basement before urging herself to continue.
Opened the door just across the first door, saw an empty hospital bed, a desk with two chairs towards one of them a headlight and a handycam was directed. It looked clean and cold like a hospital room. The light was so white and bright. She decided to record the first video here. She first checked if the camera was still working and have any device to record on. That would make her save some money at least.
Didn't really know anymore why she needed the money for but she knew very well she couldn't live her so she had at least to sell the place.
Headed to the next door, she found a little lab with tubes, and weird colored liquids and stones on the countertop. There were some books hanging from the ceiling. Closed the door, went to the next one. This room was bit childish due to its wallpaper. It was full of colorful dots. In the middle of the room, like the first room, it had a big table and on top of it there were some crayons of red, blue and yellow colors and a miter. While closing the door she noticed there was a sign just right below the door handle. It looked like a crecent but not exactly. And if it were a crecent, there was a small crecent were connected to that. Wondered if that meant anything. Closed the door slowly, the time started moving fast. To where and why she cared she didn't know. She ran towards the white room. Presumely her old room at this house, or the last place she was in. Opened the door. It was all gone. Instead of the bed she was tied there was a massive midcentury modern desk on top of it there was fancy letter in the name of her and a bottle of purple liquid just right next to it. There were no toys, no wardrobe. Nothing of her existence in here.
She took the letter and the bottle walked back to the living room. There she saw a bottle of whiskey when she came back from the lawyers.
"I guess it's time" she said. Throw the letter on the pile of documents. Left the potion on the coffee table. Headed to the bar, she had the first glass straight, and the second, and the third. That certainly slowed down the time. Got the whole bottle hugging, she laid on the couch. The alcohol was affecting her already.
I hate whiskey she thought. She didn't like the bitter taste maybe with some chocolate it would do. Gold lights of street lamps were licking the rose ceiling. It was newly painted, all the ceilings and the walls of the rooms she's been. They surely knew something that they shouldn't so her parents had made sure the memories had been erased.
Reached for the letter, she sighed. The lawyers mentioned no letter and it must be written by her parents. It had a purple seal of an amblem on the envelope. Her name was handwritten on the back on a fancy label, bold. Kalara it said with capital letters. She knew the name as it was the only thing she escape with besides those valuable items she sold in free market, but she didn't know anything other than what's been told on internet. She knew what they've done last, not she's been through her entire life. And that story mattered. Because without the story there were no words, without words there were no thoughts, without thoughts there would be no links to any material. And without any link, she was lost. Without her story, there was no future for her.
She looked at the letter. This could enlighten some of the black shadows in her memories, explain her different behaviors on general norms. She actually wanted to burn or tear this letter apart but she didn't. She broke the seal, got the letter from the envelope. It smelled lavender like the ones in the garden of this house. There were any kind of flowers in the garden but the majority were the lavenders.
Lavender was the color of the letter and the color of her old room's walls. She started to count to ten. Breathe Got big sip from the whiskey, while unfolding the letter. Kalara it wrote. If you really want your memories back…
End of the chapter