Deserted (24 page)

I merely
nodded in response, waiting for his other memories to form. The vial swirled
violently once again and visions of my mother suddenly appeared, showing a more
loving and cheerful side of her than I had ever known. They were painting in
our basement and joking around with each other…I had never seen her laugh so
hard. They were throwing paint on each other’s canvas and speckling the walls
in the process. My mother had suddenly stopped in her art and gave a coy glance
at my father, laughing at nothing and putting her arm around his waist in a
tight grip. He smiled and did the same to her. They finished my father’s art
together and admired their work in a huff of smiles and exhaustion. The
painting was beautiful and one I had never seen before; I don’t know what
happened to it. It was an image of golden streets lined with large, beautiful
homes made of brick. There was a sunrise in the distance that bathed the sky in
brilliant reds and yellows as it slowly ascended above a grassy hill on the
horizon. I was already amazed by my dad’s talent as it is but when they worked
together the palette seemed to explode on canvas. I was immediately drawn to
the picture and wished I knew what had happened to it.

           
The lantern in the tent was picking up speed as the wind started to whirl
inside, casting eerie splotches of light upon Chester’s slight grin. “A
girlfriend, or…?” The vial sat low in his lap now, almost hidden beneath the
table.

           
“…your wife.”

           
Chester nodded. “I should have known. It’s just so hard to believe…” He looked
towards me momentarily and the vial before him suddenly shifted. The sound of
laughter was heard coming from it and we both drew our eyes downwards, although
it was difficult for me to see past my father’s large hands and the cluttered table
between us.

           
There I was; just a few days before my dad left us. We were in the cluttered
basement, standing before two empty easels. He tried to teach me about art;
something I never seemed to be very good at, even though my parents clearly
were. The vision of my father had a book in one hand and a palette in the other
and he was educating me on the various primary and secondary colours but I
wasn’t in the mood to learn; I teased him and had painted stick figures on the
canvas he had given me that now lay lopsided on the floor. I had painted so
many insignificant figures and symbols, in fact, that my father had taken the
canvas away until I could take the training seriously. It was a memory that I
often pushed from my mind as I had felt it was the reason he had left; that his
laughter was merely masking his anger at me for disrespecting his work…his
passion.

           
Chester scrutinized the vision, fingering his lips as he thought. “You know,
she looks an awful lot like you.”

           
“It is me.” I replied instantly.

           
He ran his hand through his wild, curly hair and exhaled heavily. “How could I
not know this?”

“You
left when I was 15,” I said with a sigh, “it was Christmas Eve. You said you’d be
right back but you never did. Mom was a wreck, you know.”

           
My father looked towards me with a doe-eyed expression. “What happened?” He
whispered meekly.

           
“I don’t really know. I was hoping you could tell me.” We both gazed down at the
vial in his hand and suddenly saw Christmas Eve appear in the glass; just how I
remembered it.

           
It wasn’t the kind of Christmas Eve that my parents were used to. I’ve seen
pictures of an immaculate and vast world of sparkling white snow and crystalline
trees as icy flakes descended from above…I’ve seen the coloured lights that
decorated the homes nearby, heard of a man named Santa who brought presents to
all the kids around the world. Yeah, I’ve heard the stories and seen the images
but that’s not how it was anymore and not a Christmas I was used to, as I was
born after the Reckoning. His ‘miracle girl’, my father always said; with the
stress it put upon my mother, they were afraid I would not make it.

           
Like always, we were celebrating Christmas a few days before the New Year but
we didn’t have a tree or anything like that. I mean, how could we? That didn’t
stop people from finding their own makeshift ways to bring back the holiday
spirit and our home was no different. Our neighbours used to cover a corner of
their house in greens and reds, usually with a coloured blanket upon the floor
to put the gifts on; it was their own version of a tree. Our house, however,
was slightly different as my parents had painted an exquisite work of art
together and hung it in the corner, piling gifts beneath it.

It was a
painting that had depicted a small family sitting cozily around a gigantic and
bulging tree that had glowed with the soft hues of green and red lights. Golden
ornaments had dangled precariously from each jagged branch of the tree and a
large fireplace burned fiercely behind it, illuminating the focal point of the
painting and casting large shadows over the various sized gifts that lay
haphazardly beneath the tree on a small, red rug. It was a beautiful painting
and I had loved it growing up; of course, it was never seen again after my
father left.

           
But my dad’s vial left nothing out. There was the painting now, in all its
glory, propped up against the wall of the stairs with a few small gifts sitting
neatly in the corner below it. Three wooden chairs were strewn around our
makeshift tree as we sat and enjoyed each other’s company – even my mother.
Christmas was the only time you could find a constant smile on her face. My mother
and I were sitting next to each other and laughing at something my father had
said but I found it difficult to hear the vision as it lay smothered in
Chester’s burly hands.

           
“I’ll be right back,” my father had said; that much I somehow managed to make
out quite clearly, probably because I knew it would be coming.

“I
remember what we did while we waited for you to come back,” I stared at the
table before me, “Mom had just finished with her baking for the day and the
house smelled incredible; like chocolate chips and cinnamon. We were sitting
quietly and nibbling on cookies that were still too hot to touch but far too
delicious to put down,” I giggled at the memory, “I kept sipping my hot cocoa,
thinking nothing of it when you had left. It was an awkward wait, though, since
mom and I are more like strangers in the same house than family…you were really
the only reason we went near each other at all.” My fingers wrapped tightly
around my leg as I struggled with the memory. “It was close to an hour before
mom started to get worried. She went into town to see where you had gone and it
was all downhill from there.”

           
Chester had looked at me and nodded every so often at my tale but his face
showed no inkling of recollection. We caught each other’s eye momentarily and
then focused our attention back to the vial. The vision showed my father
leaving the house, his face beaming with holiday spirit and slightly red from
the glasses of wine. Just as I had feared, however, my father did not visit a neighbour
to wish them good fortune, like he always did at Christmas. No…instead, the
vial showed my father heading north, towards the Meeting Place. The closer he
got to the edges of town, however, the cloudier the vial became until the green
liquid misted over the entire memory and nothing more was seen. My father and I
exchanged glances but neither of us knew just what exactly had just happened.

           
“Try again,” I said finally, “maybe you lost concentration?”

           
He agreed with a quick nod of his head and we focused our vision on the glass
once more. The liquid swirled rapidly inside and then there we were again,
sitting around the painting on Christmas Eve. Yet, the same thing happened; the
vial became cloudy as it depicted my father leaving town and then abruptly
ended.

           
“It’s no good…” My father sounded
so
dejected as his
heavy eyes still stared down at the bottle in his hands, “I’m sorry.”

           
I sighed and growled quickly under my breath. This was supposed to be it, the
day all my questions were answered! I narrowed my eyes at the Memory Vial and
silently cursed it but seeing my fathers wrinkled hands distracted my thoughts.
I glanced up into his face and my heart sank; his eyes were glossy and his lids
heavy as he continually scrunched up and opened his eyes, trying to focus his
thoughts. His frown grew more and more exaggerated as he did his best to please
me and my heart reached out to him; I’d never seen him so disappointed before.
My dad was always happy, no matter the circumstance. He was a glass half-full
kind of person and always found the positive in things, so this…this was not a
sight I knew what to do with.

           
“It’s okay, dad; it’s not your fault.” I reached out my hand across the table
to him but he ignored it.

           
“It
is
my fault. I did this and now I can’t even remember why. Why would
I do this to you?” He still refused to look at me and his voice was unsteady.

           
“It doesn’t matter why. All that matters is that you’re here now.” I had never
had to comfort my father before…that was always
his
forte. Could this
have been the breaking point for such an optimistic man? Or was this yet
another effect of the vial?

           
I continued to look at him as we sat in silence. He clearly fought to keep
himself together but I wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to keep up
the ruse. “Think about my mother,” I said as I stood up, “she’s still out there
and she still loves you; she just wants you to come home. Memories of her might
make you feel better.”

           
He nodded curtly but still refused to look at me. I took this as my queue to
leave him be for a while; let him process what he’s learnt. I gave my father a
weak smile and I headed out, ready to find Kay. Perhaps it was selfish of me
but I couldn’t keep the frown from inching across my face…why did I feel like
it had to be memories of my mother to cheer him up? Why couldn’t he think of
me
instead?

           
It surprisingly didn’t take long for me to find Kay. He was chatting to a few
young women near a large stone building; it stuck out like a sore thumb and I
had found myself wandering towards it instinctively. There were carts sitting
out in front of the building that were full of boxes and bottles. The carts
were quite large and reminded me of the ones I had seen at the Meeting Place
all those years ago. Many small crates had littered the ground as well, blowing
across the Outpost like our own personal tumbleweeds. As I made my way towards
Kay I caught a brief whiff of something baking…I believed it to be apple pie.
My stomach grumbled at the idea of it and I made a mental note to find its
source when I was done. I called out to Kay when I was finally within earshot
and the entire group turned to look at me. Kay gasped at the sight -I’m sure he
wasn’t expecting me- and the women he was with exchanged a few glances before
deciding to leave. Their departure caused Kay to frown but he forced a smile at
me as I approached.

           
“Long time no see. What happened to you? Why did you leave?” His voice was
monotone and he stared after the women who had left him.

           
“Don’t ask if you don’t care.” I replied in a murmured tone, loud enough for
the both of us but he ignored me, pretending to have not heard me when he
noticed my stern look.

           
As I had approached Kay I had noticed an alleyway on the side of the stone
building. The alley was littered with empty crates and abandoned boxes, making
the perfect seating for a quiet discussion. I grabbed Kay by the arm and dragged
him into it, shielding us from onlookers as I exposed the vial to him. He took
it casually in one hand, barely even glancing at it.

           
“What is it?” he asked, tapping his foot incessantly on the shards of broken
crates that lay scattered on the ground around us.

           
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Look at it.”

           
He sighed and stared down at the bottle, turning it around a few times until he
saw his name written upon it. He furrowed his brow momentarily then shrugged as
he tossed the vial into his other hand. “What about it?” He looked past me,
watching something – or someone – in the Outpost.

           
“Well maybe if you actually paid attention to it for more than three seconds –
“ I
huffed angrily and cusped his hands around the vial.
“Look at it and think about…” I had so desperately wanted to say ‘me’ but I
hesitated at the message that would send to him right now, “…
your
past. Where you were before you arrived at the Outpost.”

           
He rolled his eyes. “Why? The majority of the people here don’t remember their
past; I’m nothing special in that regard. I’m pretty sure that’s why they’re
all here.”

           
I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans as I scrutinized him. “And
doesn’t that make you wonder? You have a mad scientist just to the south of
you.
A scientist that is
known
to meddle with people’s
minds.
How can you think you weren’t affected? What makes you think it’s
all a strange coincidence? I know you, Kay; you’re brighter than that.” I
wrapped my hands around his once again, both of us cradling the vial in his
palms. I felt my heart race against his soft skin, as much as I didn’t want it
to. We made eye contact for what felt like minutes and I grew hopeful that this
was the start of something good.