Available Darkness Season 2

you sell your first paintings. Then you met this man, John, and you were sooooo in love! You moved in together, in this cozy little place in the historic district, and then one day you both took off, just vanished. Rumor was you both flew to Italy and decided to marry and live there. I tried calling you, but your phone was disconnected. I tried to find someone who knew how to get a hold of you, but nothing. At first, I was mad you didn’t tell us, but Stefan reminded me that young love is impetuous, and I ought not be so selfish. We still have that painting you did for us, and cash from a few of your paintings which sold after you disappeared. By the way, vanishing was a great way to increase the price of your work!”
    Hannah sat on the toilet, floored. She couldn’t remember a single one of Sergei’s stories. Yet, each wore a thin skin of familiarity. Like a story once told, but not by her.
    After she was silent too long, Sergei said, “Are you there, Hope?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. Just trying to remember.”
    “Any of that ring a bell?” Sergei asked.
    “Maybe a little, I don’t know.”
    “Where are you now? Are you OK? Are you still with John? Are you still painting?”
    “No,” Hannah said. “None of it.”
    Greg’s voice was at the door, a jackhammer to her nerves, sending her heart racing. “Hannah? You OK?”
    “I’m fine, just a bit sick to my stomach, I’ll be out in a minute,” she said trying to squelch the rising panic in her voice. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
    “Um, OK,” Greg said.
    Back to Sergei, Hannah said in a hushed whisper, “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go in a minute. But I need you to do me a favor.”
    “Sure, anything,” he said.
    “Do you know John’s last name? Have you seen him?”
    “No, I don’t think we ever knew his last name. But he did work at another restaurant, and … oh, never mind, that place closed down a few years ago. I’m sorry, I don’t know. Are you OK?”
    “No,” Hannah said. “I mean, I don’t know. Listen, I’ve got to go. Can I call you back if I need to?”
    “Yes, anytime, Hope. And if you need anything, anything at all, don’t be afraid to call, at any hour.”
    “Thank you,” she said.
    Sergei seemed as if he didn’t want to let her go; worried enough to keep her on the line. “Are you OK?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Are you in danger?”
    Hannah forced herself into a tiny laugh. “Of course not, and I’ll be OK,” she lied. Hannah realized she should leave Sergei with something, after being gone for so long with nothing at all. “I’ll call you tomorrow; and thank you.”
    Hannah killed the call and stared at the phone, wrestling her confusion, and the thought of some alternate version of herself she couldn’t remember. She tried to pull memories from her past, but everything was like sand through her fingers, landing in water and scattering away too quickly. She tried again to remember her college friends, but every memory seemed stuck behind a wall of Jell-O.
    “That’s because they’re not real, Hope. None of it is.”
    Stop calling me Hope.
    She kept staring at the phone, wondering who else she could call. Her coworker and only friend Jenny?
    And say what? I think I’m someone else and Greg is trying to do something, but I don’t know what? Yeah, they’ll put me in the loony bin, for sure. She could hear the doctor now, “Sorry, that bump on your head in the accident was a bit worse than we thought. Turns out you’re nuts.”
    But nuts didn’t explain Sergei knowing her voice, or the dreams and flashes of John, and it ignored all of Greg’s mysterious phone calls. Something was happening, and Hannah couldn’t afford to be timid.
    She had to do something.
    But what?
    She thought of Greg sitting out in the car, waiting.
    There’s no way I’m getting in that car.
    “Then don’t. Go. Run.”
    She rose from the toilet, washed her hands, and approached the restroom door hoping Greg wasn’t being sweet, and waiting patiently for his “sick” girlfriend. Hannah opened the door, saw Greg standing there waiting, and tried to pick her racing heart up from the floor.
    “Are you OK?” he asked, looking in her eyes. “Wow, you seem pale.”
    “Stomach,” she said, holding her belly and wincing. “Just puked.”
    “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. OK, let’s get you back to the cabin and in bed.”
    She swallowed, looking past Greg to the red glowing exit sign hanging over the restaurant’s rear door.