A deluge of rain hits me. In a matter of seconds, my clothes are soaked and clung to my skin, coldness permeating deep into my skin and spreading across my body. I kneel on the muddy grass. I plant my head down and my palms on the ground to support myself.

When Mom's dying face resurfaces in my mind, I throw up again.

I continue to retch until my stomach's empty, vaguely aware of Blaire crying my name in hysteria. I feel her coming up behind me and patting my back. Once I'm done, I wipe my dirty hands on my jeans and my mouth with the back of a hand. A tremor runs through me and I wrap my arms around myself tightly.

"Riley? Are you alright?" Her hands pry at my hair that's plastered to my cheeks. "Can you stand? God, it's freezing out here!"

I see images in my head, like how Uncle Dave runs through his old film camera by pushing the tiny buttons. Click, click, click. A day at an aquarium with Mom when I was seven. A Saturday movie night with Mom during my early teen years. Dinner with Mom as she made my favorite lasagna bolognese.

And then I see it—my old house. A small, humble two-storey building painted in pale yellow. The front porch had a small flower bed where Mom would grow her herbs and tomatoes.

It's not a hallucination. I know it when I see a memory. It's what my gut feeling is telling me. They are images from my past, my memories, but it's not everything. There are several pieces still missing from the puzzle.

"Riley?" Blaire speaks near my right ear, breaking my train of thoughts. "You're scaring me! Are you okay?"

All I can do is to nod numbly. My legs are weak, but I stand with her help. She guides me back to her car and once we are both safe and sheltered inside; she exhales loudly in relief. Our bodies rack with shivers and our teeth chatter.

Seeing Blaire quivering in her wet clothes, guilt fills my chest.

"Sorry for scaring you, Blaire."

She swings around to meet my gaze angrily. "Seriously, Riley? Do you know how dangerous it is to jump out of a moving car? You–" she berates, but her face and tone soften when she sees my pained expression. "–forget it. What happened?"

My throat feels dry as I attempt to answer her. "Memories," I croak out. "A couple of them."

Realization dawns on her, and her eyes enlarge as big as saucers. "Oh. My. God. They are returning? What should I do? What do you need? Water?"

"Please."

She almost throws herself into the backseat of the car just to rummage through her backpack. Once she finds a bottle of mineral water, she unscrews the cap and hands it to me quickly. I take huge gulps before wiping my mouth with the back of my slick hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Are you feeling better? Should we drive to the hospital and see the doctor?"

I shake my head. "Not the hospital," I answer quietly. "There's another place I need to go. Can you drive me there instead?"

"Okay. Where?"

I tell her the address, and her frown deepens. There are clearly several questions written across her face, but she doesn't ask me. Instead, she starts the car running again and we drive the rest of the way in silence. There's a thick tension in the air which neither of us wishes to break. I'm busy drowning deep in my turmoil of thoughts and emotions, whereas Blaire is shooting me furtive glances. She's obviously anxious that I might do something crazy again.

We arrive at our destination—the Lakeshore Cemetery Park. The rain hasn't relented, but it's not stopping me from removing my seatbelt and stepping out into the bad weather. Again. Blaire mirrors my actions and tries to follow me, but a sudden clap of lightning and thunder scares her to death and she retreats into the safety of her car.

She yells my name, her eyes wide with panic. "Riley! Come back here. You're going to fall sick or get struck by lightning!"

I sense regret and worry in her tone. I know she thinks she has made a choice of listening to my request and coming here, but I don't blame her. After all, I'm behaving like a lunatic on the road.

My voice comes out calmly. "Wait for me in the car. I'll be back soon."

"Geez, no! At least take an umbrella! Riley? Ril—"

I'm already trudging through the metal gates of the cemetery and away from her car. The pounding of the rain drowns her shrill voice. Water streams down my face and body, but I don't care. It sounds insane, but emotions override all logic. My legs are moving on their own. I want to have a quick look at my mother's grave, not anytime later, but now. Before I might end up forgetting her face again.

I remember the spot from my last visit. Fifth row, the eleventh gravestone. When I find Mom, I drop to my knees and run my icy fingers across her name.

Sadness pools in my chest.

"You left me behind."

My voice cracks with emotion and soon, I'm pouring my heart out to Mom. If ghosts exist in this world. "I should get better, but no, I'm feeling all shitty and tired. Marcus's here to take your place, but I'm not letting him," I sigh before carrying on. "It's him, isn't it? He's the reason we left town. He has been stalking us all along and he attacked you."

No one answers my questions, but I'm highly convinced that my father is involved somehow because of his untimely appearance. After how he has given me a plane ticket and insisted on me going home with him, I'm more afraid than ever that he might seriously do something worse to me since I've refused his idea. Maybe he wants something from me, but I do not know what that is.

I put aside that fear and focus my eyes on the gravestone before me.

"I miss you, Mom."

My vision blurs along the edges. I don't know how long I kneel there until a set of footsteps comes running in my direction.

"Riley!" I hear Kyle shout before he embraces me tightly and my body automatically leans into him. Blaire must have called him when she panicked earlier. "What happened? You're freezing cold and wet! Come on, we need to get out of here."

He tries to pull me to my feet, but I refuse to budge. "Riley? You're scaring me." His voice quivers and he rubs his hand in circles on my back soothingly. "What's going on?"

All I do is to shake my head and bury my face in his arms. It's like I have busted the Hoover Dam; my memories splinter through my head in fragments as tears stream down my cheeks endlessly.

"Mom," I cry.

And that word is all it takes for my heart to crumble.

***

Somehow, Kyle gets me back to the gate. He gets me settled in his car and grabs my belongings from Blaire. They exchange words I can't hear and she keeps throwing me worried looks. We eventually drive back to my house in separate cars and when Blaire sees me safely home, she takes her leave.

She's a good friend, more than what I deserve. I owe her an explanation, but that will have to come later.

When Aunt Abbie sees Kyle and me walking through the door, all wet and solemn, the first thing she does is to swear under her breath.

"Dear lord! What happened to you guys? Did you forget your umbrellas?"

She takes a quick look at my pale and shaken expression before her eyes glide over to where Kyle is standing and holding my arms as he supports me. He gives a small shake of his head and she immediately gets the hint that this isn't the usual caught-in-the-rain situation.

She shoos us upstairs and grabs towels along the way. "Both of you, in the showers now. I don't want you kids to fall sick. Kyle, you take the one downstairs. I'll give you Dave's spare clothes later."

We don't argue because it's not wise to go up against a mother figure, especially one that's about to explode with questions. But she's holding them in because she knows I need a moment to myself. We do as she instructs, and Kyle shoots me a worried look before disappearing.

I know he wants me to talk to him.

And I will.

In the bathroom on the second floor, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The burst of warm water spraying down my body earns a sweet sigh of relief from me. And that's when I realize how much I'm freezing. I take my time to lather shampoo in my hair and soap all over my body. Once I'm satisfied, I dry myself quickly, including my wet strands of hair and dress in my PJs.

Kyle's already waiting for me in my room, wearing Uncle Dave's old sweatshirt and pants. He perches on the edge of the bed and types something into his phone. When he sees me entering, he tosses it into the bundle of pillows and reaches for my hand.

I let him pull me down beside him. I expect him to bombard me with questions about my odd behavior, but he surprises me with something else. "Feeling better?"

"Not entirely," I admit quietly. "But it's a little better with your company."

He holds my gaze for a long time, his emerald eyes drawing me in. "Talk to me whenever you're ready, okay?"

"Let's talk now. I'm ready."

"You sure?

"Positive."

His expression seems doubtful, but he listens quietly. I spill everything to him—about Dad, the plane ticket he has given me, the shadow in the hospital, my memories of Mom. When I'm finished with my story, he frowns.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Well, it makes me even more worried when you don't tell me things. Unless...you don't trust me?"

"I do!" I confess quickly so he doesn't get the wrong idea. "It's just that everything has been confusing for me. And I know you won't like it if I told you that my memories are returning. It's what you begged me not to do before we got together again. I'm sorry, Kyle."

A small sigh escapes his lips. "Forget what I said in the past. I think you should stop worrying about others and care more about yourself. Do what you want to do, Riley. Otherwise, you'll never move on from your past."

I'm so stunned at how he's swallowing everything. "What about you, Kyle?"

"Me?" He blinks in surprise and takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. "I'll always be here."

His tenderness always catches me off guard, but it's sweet and touching. I startle him by throwing my arms around him for a hug, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. His body stills for one second before he returns the gesture and squeezes me lightly.

"I know I don't say this often," I tell him, "but I hope you know that you're my best pillar of support. The old Riley was an idiot to leave you."

He chuckles lightly, his voice vibrating in his chest. "Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you know that it's completely fine for you to depend on me. Relationships are a two-way street. We get into it together and work through it all together. Communication is the key," he emphasizes. "A relationship doesn't work if we don't talk."

"I know, but why do I feel like I'm depending heavily on you?"

I feel him shaking his head in disagreement. "That's how you see things, but for me, no. You're making an enormous difference in my life," he says. "I used to be a bad kid—throwing tantrums and starting fights. But with you, I'm learning how to be patient and understanding. And perhaps in the future, when I face a problem, at least I know that you'll be there for me to lean on."

His big words leave me speechless and in awe. I've never thought much about myself or my value. I've never imagined myself playing an important role in somebody else's life. And because of this, I find tears springing to my red-rimmed eyes.

"So," Kyle continues, "no more secrets between us, alright? Promise?"

"Alright," I agree. "No more secrets."

"Good." He shifts beside me and snakes one hand around my waist. Without warning, he throws us back so that we are both lying on my bed, earning a surprised squeak from me. "Time to sleep."

"Sleep?" It sounds like a great idea because I'm exhausted from all that crying and my eyes are swollen. "It's only 6pm."

"You need rest to take your mind off things. Besides, Aunt Abbie says dinner's not ready until seven."

"Great."

Satisfied, Kyle pulls me back towards his chest and we drift off to sleep. Except that I don't. Half an hour later, I get up and leave the bed quietly, praying that I don't wake him up. My hand grabs the blue journal from my desk—the same one which Aunt Abbie has given me when I first moved here. It's best for me to jot down the fresh memories that I've recalled so far before I forget them.

Just as I turn on the small table lamp, I hear a slight rustle behind me and pause in my movements. But Kyle just rolls to his other side and carries on sleeping. His hair is adorably matted on one side, his face is handsome but tired. He deserves all the sleep he can get after the terrible fright that I've given him earlier.

Sitting at my desk, I write.

❖

Dear Riley,

Something happened to Mom before the accident.

And we're going to find out why.