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Shannon was so fastidious. I was sure he would justsnapif something was left sitting out... if a towel was left crumpled on the counter... if a box of crackers fell over on its side. It wasn’t like he’d ever harmed me for leaving anything out. He’d never hit me or yelled at me or smashed or thrown things. It was just... this disappointed tone like you get with a kid who eats an unauthorized cookie before dinner. I hated doing something wrong in his house—especially given how much he provided for me without asking for anything in return. I felt like my behavior had to be... perfect—to somehow compensate for what an inconvenience I must be.
I also felt like I had to somehow make him trust me so I could be afree range humanagain. I liked the comfort of his home, but it felt like a clock was running. At some point, he’d get bored with the novelty of another person taking up space like the white cat. He had to believe I could be trusted or... I didn’t want to think about theorright now.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m going up to bed. I’m having a party tomorrow night, and I’ll need you to stay in your room until it’s over.”
“O-okay.” The next day was Sunday. Was he killing someone tomorrow? Or was he really having a party? Aside from his supposed urban exploring friends, Shannon didn’t strike me as a super social guy. What kind of a party could he be having?
“Shannon?”
He stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Yeah?”
I was afraid I might make him mad, but I pressed on with my question anyway. “We disguised my appearance. The media has forgotten about me. Why can’t I go to the party?”
He offered me a kind smile, which I swear he must have stood in front of the mirror for hours practicing because it didn’t look right on his face. “It’s not your kind of party. Trust me. I’ll take you out next weekend if you want. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better host. Oh, and I’ve got to be out of town a few days next week. Business.”
Then he drifted up the stairs. Moments later, I heard his door click shut.
I’d tried to sneak into his office early on, but he kept the door locked at all times when he wasn’t in there. And I wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be any different tonight. There were a few other doors in the house he kept locked all the time as well. But he pretended as if those doors didn’t exist, and I wasn’t dumb enough to let him know I was aware that they did.
I sat on the sofa and looked around, at a loss for what to do. It was only nine o’clock and felt way too early for sleep. The cat sat on a chair opposite from me, glaring, plotting.
I went back up to my room and took the envelope from under the mattress. There was no way I would be able to sleep with my life lying a few inches underneath me. I came back downstairs with it and dumped the contents out on the coffee table.
The DVD was in a clear plastic freezer bag and just said “Cache” on it. I set it aside for the moment and turned to the information Shannon had somehow acquired about me.
“Elodie Rosen. Age: 28. Graduate student of Botany at University of Washington.”
Washington state was on the other side of the country. Did Trevor live and work there? Had he taken me all the way across the country, or had I gone to where he was? Maybe spring break or something.
But why had nobody called? The story must have made national news if Shannon heard about it, unless he’d been traveling in the area. For business. Maybe I’d been wrapped up in my studies and had no close friends. But no family either? Didn’t my professors give a shit about me? Or did they think someone else would come forward?
I looked back to the list. It didn’t appear that I’d had a job. I’d mostly kept to myself. But according to Shannon’s search, I didn’t have student loans, either. Had I inherited a lot of money? Surely I had to have money. And nobody was speaking up for me?
People reallydidn’tlike to get involved in things. It was just like what Shannon said. I could have screamed my head off, and that kid at the motel might have pretended he couldn’t hear me—anything to not get involved. What was wrong with people?
I scanned further down the paper. “Fluent in French. Spent several semesters in Paris as an undergrad.” Maybe someone in France gave a shit about me.
I glanced back at the DVD and slid it out of the plastic. I put it in the player and settled back on the sofa. It was a French film. It must have been a version of the film made specifically for a French audience because there were no subtitles or dubbing.
But I understood all the dialogue.
I wasn’t sure if Shannon had chosen a creepy foreboding movie on purpose or if it was just difficult to find a French film that didn’t fit that mold, but I nearly leaped off the sofa when Shannon came down the stairs during an intense scene. It didn’t help that he moved as stealthily as the cat did.
He went to the kitchen for a glass of milk and then came back out into the living area. He wore pale gray pajama pants that showcased his tan and no shirt. The white cat jumped down off the chair and took the opportunity to weave in and out of his legs, leaving her scent on him. She stared at me pointedly while she did it. As if I were going to rush over there and fight for cuddle privileges with perhaps the least cuddly person in the world.
“Est-ce que tu t’es rendu à l’histoire du chien dans la scène du dîner?”Shannon said.
“Ne me gâche pas tout.”Even though I knew I understood French, it still shocked me when I spoke it. Or did it shock me that Shannon spoke it? Maybe he’d just learned the one phrase. But his accent and enunciation were impeccable.
“Interesting,” he said. “Have you read all of the file yet?”
“Not yet. I wanted to watch the DVD, and then I got sucked in.”
He nodded. “It’s a good film. You should read the rest of the file. I think this confirms a theory I had.”
“And what theory was that?” I asked, trying not to look too eager.
“You’ve clearly got retrograde amnesia, but your skills and general knowledge seem to be intact, just not specific autobiographical memories. That’s generally how it works. So you’ll find you know things but you won’t know how you know them. Like with the French.”
