Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Sam attempted to pull himself upright, but the pain in his abdomen stopped him. He collapsed with a grunt, looking down at himself. There was a red-and-black-checkered blanket covering his bottom half, and extensive bandaging covered where he’d been shot in his chest.
It was steadily trickling in now. The memories, the screams. Who? Who could have possibly been the enemy Amon had been sent to kill? Sam had heard of others sent to kill children in foreign lands as reprisal for the sins of the father. Reprisals the details of which they weren’t meant to question or understand. But Amon had fired randomly at a schoolyard of children. Why?
Sam let his eyes fall shut for a moment, but now that his memory had returned, the visions were more vivid behind his lids. So he opened his eyes once more.
The door squeaked, and he tensed. She entered, and his heart nearly stopped. Her. In the flesh. He’d seen her there, on the playground, but he’d thought it was some sort of vision or hallucination brought on by shock. He’d kept her there with him, guiding him to his truck, because he was so weak, he couldn’t do it alone. He wouldn’t have made it otherwise. So he’d pretended. He’d brought her forth to help him cope as he’d done so many times before. Yes, she’d seemed brighter, more vivid, but he’d been very, very hurt. He’d expected to die. And that would have been okay. He was supposed to be dead anyway.
Maybe I am.
She had a small pile of firewood in her arms, and she put it down next to the fire, humming as she added a piece. She hadn’t looked at him yet.
Am I in heaven?
But that couldn’t be it, because if there was a heaven, he certainly wouldn’t have been sent there.
Her hair was dark and wavy, and she had it twisted up on the top of her head. She was wearing jeans and a green-and-gray flannel shirt that looked far too big for her.
She was still her, but she was a woman. He watched her, trying to orient himself, attempting to merge the girl she’d been with the woman she was, even while disbelief and fear and wonder overwhelmed him.
She stood, brushing her hands together and turning. She did look at him then, and her eyes widened in surprise. Her cheeks were rosy from what must be the cold outside, and for several beats, they simply stared. Wide eyes, narrow chin, the most perfectly shaped mouth he’d ever seen. Autumn.
She’s beautiful. More beautiful even than he remembered. He’d tried so hard to keep her features vivid in his mind over all the years since he’d last been face-to-face with her in the woods, but he realized now he hadn’t even come close.
Then she smiled, and there was the strangest pressure—an expanding—just under his ribs. An angel—his angel—was looking at him and smiling.
“Well, hello.” She walked slowly toward him but stopped a few feet from where he lay. “How do you feel?”
“It’s you,” he said, and the words came out as little more than a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried to put some force behind his words. “It’s you,” he repeated.
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, it’s me. And it’s you. Sam.”
“You know my name.” He was wondrous. He didn’t know where he was or even who he was or if this was reality or some version of insanity or a fever dream or a medication he’d been given. But whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.
“Yes, you told me your name. Do you remember?”
He cast his mind back, wincing from the pain in his head. “No.”
She took a step closer. “That’s not surprising. You’ve been very sick.”
He glanced down at his chest. “You helped me.”
She bit at her lip, a worried look coming into her eyes. “Yes. I’m a registered nurse. I removed the bullets. It didn’t appear they’d hit anything vital. I stitched you up. I administered antibiotics, and I’ve been here monitoring you. It was a risk, Sam. I thought you might die, and if you had…”
“Thank you,” he said, a whisper again. “Thank you.” He felt strange. Something he couldn’t identify. Like crying. He felt like crying. It was unusual. He didn’t think he knew what crying felt like anymore. “Autumn,” he said. “Your name is Autumn.” It had been written at the front of the book with the red velvet cover, the one he’d been forced to leave behind when he was banished. His treasure. His only treasure. Yet he’d carried it with him anyway, secure in the vault of his mind.
She nodded slowly, taking another step toward him. “Yes. Did they tell you my name?”
“They?”
Her forehead dipped. “The people at the hospital all those years ago? The ones who sent you out into the woods?”