Scattered Read online

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  The film room was located down a cold, dark portion of the basement. Except for the occasional researcher, this part of the library was relatively unused. It was easy to pick a station and gather up a few film rolls of newspapers from the year before.

  Loading her film into the machine and switching it on, Rebecca didn't know quite what she was searching for, but she had a distinct feeling she should start looking with the gazebo fire. It wasn't long before her search yielded results.

  On the front page of the newspaper, she laid eyes on the image of the burned remains of the gazebo. Under the image was an article entitled "Arson at the Park."

  Scanning the article with her eyes, she read the main piece of the article aloud. "...According to investigators at the scene, the distinct scent of an accelerant lingered in the air well after the blaze was extinguished, leading those at the scene to suspect arson was behind the blaze. When asked if the fire could have been caused by accident, the fire chief said, 'We see cigarette butts causing fires in these parts all the time, and we will review the evidence. However, the presence of an accelerant makes that highly doubtful, and it is possible we have a serial arsonist on the loose.' The chief made no further comments when questioned about the exact substance used to ignite the fire or if this shared a link with the recent fires on Forrest Hill Road which killed members of the Miller family. Overall, there have been several unexplained fires in the area, including those of the local history museum, the covered bridge over Redding Creek, and a diner named Sally's on Main Street..."

  With dread seeping into her stomach, Rebecca realized she recognized all of those places. In fact, she frequented Sally's diner throughout her high school years as it was the local teen hangout. She went there after school frequently with Dane, Danica, and all her other friends. She couldn't imagine someone setting the place on fire purposefully.

  She printed the article and loaded another film roll. When she looked at the screen, she gasped, instantly recognizing the face on the front page. Danica's photo was posted beneath the headline "Local Girl Burned Alive."

  Rebecca began to shake.

  Her head began pounding mercilessly in her chest, and she struggled to catch her breath.

  Without thinking, she printed the article and ran out of the library.

  After walking around aimlessly, she awoke from her daze to find herself standing outside of Dr. Miller's office. She was late for her appointment, but she hardly cared. There were things that had to be addressed between her and Dr. Miller that could not be put off any longer.

  Being late for her appointment, she was allowed straight into the doctor's office without delay. When she entered, she found him seated at his desk, talking on the phone.

  When he laid eyes on her, he let out a sigh of relief. "False alarm. She finally arrived," he said into the receiver as he adjusted his neck tie. "I will call you later, Adam."

  "You called my dad," she exclaimed, both surprised and frustrated by the act.

  Taking a seat, Rebecca watched as he hung up the phone and glared at her with a look of disapproval. "What did you expect me to do?" he asked, his brows draw together in apparent anger. "You are an hour and a half late. What if something would have happened to you? What if you had gotten hurt?"

  Placing her head in her hands, she didn't think she spent that much time in the library. Delving into her mind, she realized she didn't remember anything between bursting out the entrance of the library and standing outside Dr. Miller's office. She had to have lost at least an hour of her memory.

  Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she wracked her brain for answers. Realizing the loss of time was not normal, she feared having to return to Brookshire for evaluation and possible reinstatement. Looking down, she remembered she held the newspaper printouts tightly in her hand. She concluded that there had to be a piece of information within these papers that stirred something within her mind. Something that caused her rational mind to try to hide from reality as it did a year before.

  Dr. Miller stood up and came around the desk to stand before her. His mouth was twisted downward in a frown. His eyes were pleading. "I can't help you if you don't let me in," he said, cupping her chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "What can I do to help you?"

  Feeling slightly uncomfortable by his nearness, she fidgeted in her seat and turned her face away from his grasp. "I am experiencing some memory loss," she whispered honestly, shaking her head slowly, back and forth, as if unable to come to grips with it all. "I don't know where I have been for the past hour or so."

  His eyes widened with surprise. "Has this happened since you left the hospital? How many times has it happened?" he questioned, turning and taking his place behind the desk as he scribbled notes in her file.

  "Only this once," she responded, anxiously watching him write and wondering if he was labeling her as certifiable. "It happened after I read this...."

  Lifting up the printouts so he could see them, she passed them to him, seeing his immediate displeasure. "You shouldn't have done this," he said, glancing between her and the articles.

  "When were you going to tell me about Layla? How can you treat me when I could possibly have information concerning the murder of your family locked in my head?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes in confusion. "This is a huge conflict of interest."

  "Your treatment has nothing to do with my family," he said defensively, his voice deep with emotion as he focused on the article concerning the house fire.

  "How can you know for sure?" she asked, running her hands through her hair and tugging the strands. "How can you know when I don't? I don't know anything for sure anymore. The articles say that all of these events could be connected. If so, I had to have known something. It could have triggered my missing hour."

  Shifting forward in his seat, he met her eyes. "You lost your best friend the night they found you in the woods. It is possible you didn't see a crime being committed but came upon Danica's remains. Such a thing would cause an incredible amount of trauma," he told her, appearing to choose his words carefully. "There is no proof that there is any link between what happened to Danica and my family."

  Rebecca nodded, trying to see the logic in his words.

  Suddenly, the intercom sparked to life, announcing Dr. Miller's next appointment had arrived.

  "I think we should schedule another appointment for tomorrow to catch up on the things we missed today," he said, rising from his seat and handing her the newspaper printouts. "I'll call with the details tonight. I expect you to be here on time."

  Rebecca nodded, taking the papers from him. "You are going to give these back? I thought you wanted me to discover information on my own," she told him.

  He scoffed at her. "You have already read them," he pointed out. "What is the point of taking them away now?"

  Rebecca nodded. "You're right. I guess... the damage is done."

  Walking her out, he draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. "You are not damaged, Becca," he whispered in her ear, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You just need help to figure things out, and I want to help you with that."

  Rebecca smiled, letting down her guard and relaxing in his presence. He could have made her feel unstable, but instead, he tried his best to bring her comfort and make her feel comfortable in her own skin. That was something she had struggled to achieve since she was institutionalized. "Thank you, Dr. Miller," she said before walking out of the front door.

  Exiting the building, Rebecca saw that her brother's 1969 cherry-red thunderbird had pulled up to the curb. Surprised to see him, she hesitated and waved awkwardly at him.

  He rolled down the window and smiled, exposing his pearly-white teeth. "Mom's meeting is running late. She wanted me to pick you up."

  She nodded, walking towards the passenger's seat and getting in. "Thanks for picking me up," she told him. "I know how much you want
ed to golf with Dane."

  "It's alright. We had almost wrapped up the game anyway. I was killing him out there," he said with a chuckle as he peeled away from the curb. Seeming to notice the printouts in her grasp, her brother asked, "What is that you have there?"

  Feeling as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have, Rebecca looked away. "Just some newspaper printouts about the fires."

  "Why would you have that?" he asked, his green eyes wide with surprise. "Does Dr. Miller know you have them?"

  She nodded. "I showed them to him," she answered. "He could have taken them, but there was no point. I read them already."

  Taylor shook his head. "You shouldn't even be worrying about that," he said, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his tanned skin turned pale.

  "I want to know the truth," she told him truthfully, bowing her head in shame. "Something happened to me, and I will never come to grips with it until I know what that is."

  After a few silent and awkward moments, they pulled up to their house. As Rebecca attempted to reach for the door handle, Taylor pulled her back with a gentle tug on her shoulder. When she turned to look at him, she could tell by the expression on his face that something was wrong.

  With sadness emanating from him, he opened his mouth in an attempt to say something but quickly closed it, unable to speak.

  "What is it?" Rebecca questioned, her eyes wide with concern.

  Running his hand through his thick brown hair, he averted his gaze. "Maybe forgetting was the best thing that could have happened to you," he told her, his words barely audible. "Don't go digging in the past, Becca. You may not like what you find."

  Although he was calm, Rebecca couldn't help but feel threatened. If he knew something, that would mean her own brother was conspiring against her, wanting her memory to never return or worse... to remain locked up in Brookshire. "Why, brother?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "What might I find?"

  Appearing pensive, Taylor remained silent, choosing to avoid her gaze and stare out of the windshield. Realizing he was unwilling to say more, she opened the car door and hurried inside.