Introduction (New Update!)

Sorry everyone, it's been a while since my last update. There's a little bit of new stuff though, and I hope to add some more throughout the rest of the week. Keep your eye out!
This website is a conglomeration of Tweets from the Twitter-novel I am writing live at @to_live. You can follow the story there, or just wait for the updates here. Hope you enjoy it!

Introduction

I've just realized that this blog will look like it's never updated, since I've been making the posts go from first to last... So I guess I'll just post a new little introduction every now and then, to show this page is still alive.
This website is a conglomeration of Tweets from the Twitter-novel I am writing live at @to_live. You can follow the story there, or just wait for the updates here. Hope you enjoy it!

(Part 1) Waking Up j

Pain. Intense, body-wide, mind-killing pain. Can't breathe, think, move. There is dirt beneath me. With effort, I clench my fists into it.

I black out, come to again.The pain lessens; I move my arms, push upright. Train tracks stretch out beside me. I realize I don't know my name

"Welcome back, j."I turn to the man above me. Sinister eyes, austere chin. He smiles and I shiver. "Thought we lost you for a minute there."

My legs work but I don't let him see this.He continues." There are parties very interested to know where you are. It'd be hard to keep quiet."

I inch right foot under left leg. "You're a wiley woman, j. I wouldn't've found you myself if it wasn't for... well, you know." But I don't.

"No matter. Found you in the end, eh?" In reply I launch to my feet and run. Well, I stumble rapidly. He curses. In a second I'll feel his grip.

But grasping arms don't come. I don't stop to question until I hear the scream behind me. I turn; pain erupts in my spine. The man is on fire.

I stare, gape-mouthed at the flames. He screams again and I run harder now, fast as I can. I have knives in my back, bullets in my gut.

Don't know where to go - I follow the tracks. The dirt turns to scraggled grass, weeds. I scour my brain, and find nothing but the present.

I must be someone. The man had called me j, but that didn't stir a memory. I don't even know what I look like but for thin hands, long legs.

Where the tracks dead-end there's a small pond. Not ideal, but I squint into it. A stranger's blue eyes look back, framed by a pixie's face.

My hair is short, black. Dyed? I can't tell. My cheekbones make odd angles from the corner of my mouth. I run dirt-encrusted fingers along them.

"You ok?" I jump clumsily, fall head-over-feet into mud. "Oh, god, I'm sorry!" I look up into the face of a country-boy, blond and clean-cut.

"Let me help you." He offers a calloused hand. I let him pull me to my feet. He wipes at the worst of the mud to no effect. "So sorry..."

"Don't worry about it," I say. My voice is unfamiliar; someone else's words in my mouth. "It's not the worst thing that's happened to me today."

"I was just passing," he says. "You looked a bit beat up, thought I'd stop." I shake my head. "I'm fine, just rinsing." My hands are all-over mud.

"Shoot. This is my fault--you wanna towel? Got one in my truck." For the first time I see the red pickup parked on the other side of the pond.

"I'm Cliff, by the way." He offers a hand. I hold up mine to remind him of the mud. "Cliff Bass," he says. "I'm j," I reply, and salute him.

"j... Got a last name?" He jokes as we walk to the pickup. I just smile. He digs around the bed and pulls out a damp towel. "Thanks," I say.

"You new in town? Don't reckon I've seen ya before." The towel doesn't do much, but it's better than nothing. "I'm just passing through."

He looks around us in both directions. "You drove?" "Nope." Or if I did, I wouldn't know which car was mine. "Need a ride somewhere?"

I only deliberate for an instant. "Sure." Why not? I've got no one else to ask, and don't enjoy the prospect of a night alone in these woods.

The music in his pickup is loud, country. I know the lyrics to some of the songs. I sing along, glad to recognize anything. My voice is awful.

Halfway to town, he discovers I have nowhere to stay. I insist I'm fine but he takes me to his anyway; a house that's little more than shack.

He leads me to an outdoor shower room, leaves a towel and copious amount of soap, heads inside. I'm glad for the alone time; I need to think.

The hot water takes a while to kick in, but when it does, it's heaven. I stand spread-eagled and let the mud run off. My body looks starved.

By the time I've toweled off, I don't want to put on my muddy clothes. I stand outside the shower in a towel. There's a mirror on the stall.

The scar on my right shoulder looks old, puckered like a gunshot wound. On my upper back is a black tattoo, concentric circles around a flame.

I cover my chest with a hand and lower the towel to see my lower back, where it hurts most. I scream when the towel reveals blackened skin.

The edges of the burn are livid red; the center has a greenish tinge, like rot. Bile is thick in my throat. Cliff came running at the scream.

"Were you shot?" he asks, because he can only see the front of me, the old wound in my shoulder. In response, all I can do is turn around.

(Part 2) Dream Discovery

The hospital is freezing in my paper gown. I wish I could put the clothes I came in back on--Cliff's flannel shirt and his sister's overalls.

The doctor comes in frowning. "We bandaged you up best we could... You're Cliff's... cousin?" He doesn't believe us, but at least he doesn't press.

I nod. "How long you in town?" I shrug. "We should see you again next week to make sure it's healing. You remember how to change the bandages?"

"Sure. I'm fine." "And you don't remember how this happened?" I bite my lip. This is our weak point. "We had a fire... We think I fell asleep."

He nods. "It's odd; the burn is worst in the center as if... Nevermind. I'm prescribing you an antibiotic and painkillers to take as needed."

"As if what?" I ask, but he shakes his head. "Drink plenty of fluid; you were pretty dehydrated when you came in," he adds as he heads out.

Cliff covers the cost of the visit, even though I tell him not to. Without insurance the price tag is insane. I owe this man more than money.

"How much do you remember?" he asks on the way home. We didn't talk about it at the hospital--I didn't want to end up in some psych ward.

I know I shouldn't talk about it until I know what's going on, but I trust my cowboy. He hasn't asked a thing all day. "Honestly? Nothing."

"That must feel so weird.. Not to know yourself." He looks sorry for me.I shrug. "It's not that strange. I can't remember anything different."

In the house he puts sheets on a spare couch. Springs poke my back when I lay down, and the whole thing creaks, but I tell him it's perfect.

It's only eight o'clock when I fall asleep, the light still bright in the living room window. It's not long until my subconscious kicks in.

Bright lights, fast shapes, a million sounds. Over it all, someone screaming, sobbing. "Please," they cry, voice tearing in throat. "Please."

A higher voice, female, laughs. Harsh sound. The shapes get clearer. Beside me on the ground, a charred boy-shape is wreathed in flames.

The boy doesn't scream - he is beyond feeling. A man beside him begs on his hands and knees. The woman is still laughing, gleeful hatred.

"Nice, Lucinda," someone comments. "Very nice." I turn to the speaker, jarred by recognition. It's the man from the train tracks, who woke me.

Seeing him pulls me from the dream. I sit up with a gasp, confused. Surroundings are unfamiliar... It takes a moment to realize where I am.

It's dark outside the cowboy's house now. Even the half-moon has almost set. I watch it through slitted eyes as I try in vain to sleep again.

The house is chilly, even though Cliff left me all the spare blankets he had. I huddle deeper into them, but my insides feel covered in frost.

Finally I throw off the covers altogether, slip on his overalls. The floor creaks, but not enough to wake him, I think. I go out the front door.

The yard is spectral in the moonlight. Trees are wizened giants, the fog is a rolling ghost. Even the grass whispers of things forgotten...

I wander, nowhere in particular. A patch of green catches my attention; a vine that creeps along the side of the house, dotted with blossoms.

I run my fingers over the leaves, the petals, I want to feel everything, suddenly. I want to know the whole world, since I cannot know myself.

I slip out of the overalls to lie in the grass. The dew is frozen, the soft wind cold as ice. I stay still, will myself to blend into the cold.

Eventually, after I don't know how long, the cold falls away. Warmth radiates through my body, starting in my toes, spreading to every limb.

I am burning up, sweating in the freezing spring morning, and my body relishes the heat. I imagine tendrils of smoke in the grass around me.

Something smells wrong, though, something is off. I can't place it, but the scent is familiar, like campfires or roasting meat fat and tender.

The pain comes at me without warning, sharp and steady at the base of my spine. I don't remember crying out, but I must have -- Cliff runs out.

I pull the overalls across my body hastily, but he doesn't care, he's already rolling me over. Even his gentle touch sets off another spasm.

"We need to take you back to the hospital," he murmurs, but I shake my head. "Too much. Just change the bandages," I say through gritted teeth.

(Part 3) Laying Roots

I wake in the morning to the smell of coffee. Back only aches when I think about it or I move too fast. I take the antibiotics with toast.

"I been thinkin bout your situation," Cliff says. "Listen, I could get you a job down the corner grocers, while you try figurin things out."

I stare at the eggs on my plate. I feel stuffed after just half a piece of toast. "I owe you too much already. I'll be on my way soon anyway."

"But where will you go?" His face is completely open, his expression boyish. He's around my age I guess -- no wrinkles yet but no zits either.

"Don't you have work to do? A life to get back to? I don't know two things about you, but you let me stay here, paid bills... that's too much."

"Well, that makes two of us who don't know each other," he says. I purse my lips. "That's not fair--I don't even know me. Least you have that."

He sighs. "I work down at my uncle's farm. Parents passed away. You're the most interesting thing that's been by in years, if I'm honest."

I stand up, push the eggs away. My stomach didn't like the pills. "I wouldn't mind being a little less interesting right now. Excuse me."

Fresh air cools my head, but not my intestines. I grimace at the sunlight. It's chased away all the magic of this yard at night, made it dull.

I take a quick shower, then put the overalls and his shirt back on. I really need to get some clothes, but I can't ask Cliff for anything more.

I'll need to get a job, I realize; at least for a little while until I figure things out. If I ever figure things out.

I think about a future in this little piece of nowhere. Staying here for the rest of my life, growing old, having kids, never knowing my past.

Hell, maybe I even have kids. I lift the shirt a little to peek at my stomach. No stretch marks, no C-section scars... Unlikely. I hope.

The front foor bangs; bad hinges. Cliff shuffles his feet on the porch. "I gotta run into town... You wanna come with?"

Why not? I climb in his side because the handle of my door is rusted shut. The road in is bumpy, jolting me across the ripped plaid seatcovers.

"You're not from around here, I can tell you that," he says over the country wail of the radio. "How can you tell?" I ask. He laughs.

"Your accent, for one. For two, your teeth are actually straight, and your hands, gosh..." I fold my hands in my lap. "What about them?"

"I've never seen hands so white and smooth, sweetheart. Nails uncracked, no calluses... No way you're from this town. You were monied, I'll bet."

"I hope so," I whisper into my lap. "Then maybe I stand a chance of paying you back, for all this..."

He slid something across the seat, a small black drawstring bag. "Almost forgot... This was in the back pocket of the pants you threw out."

I pull the strings and dump the contents into my palm. A silver Capital One card, a few cents (including Euros) and a key with the Lexus logo.

"Think this was mine?" I roll the key between my fingers. He shrugs. I drop everything back into the bag. "At least I can use the card."

Town is little more than a grocery store and a row of fifteen storefronts. He heads for the food, leaving me to search for clothes on my own.

The first store only carries menswear. In the second store, I find a pair of jeans and a few old T-shirts in the sale bin. Shoes are harder.

I must have tried on half the products in the store before I find a pair of faded leather boots that fit. Apparently I'm a size six.

I hand the woman the credit card and try to look casual. I have no idea if this is my card, what the pin number is, how high the balance...

She smiles and passes it back over the counter and a receipt begins to print, so it must have gone through. I ask if I can change in the back.

Ten minutes later I'm dressed in women's clothes again, and shoes that fit, pacing through the grocery store looking for my cowboy.

I find him in the meat aisle. "How much steak d'you think you'd eat?" he asks, eying the cuts behind the counter with an expert stare.

"For all I know, I'm a vegetarian," I say. "How do I look?" I twirl for him. He laughs. "Out-of-place." He points the server to two T-bone steaks.

He drops the groceries in the truck. "Let's walk, just up and down the block," he says. "Maybe something will jar your memory."

Halfway up the street, I glance at the dark windows of a department store, and pause. My reflection stands out in the tinted glass.

I'm not short, but not tall either. Maybe 5'6", though I look scrawny next to Cliff's 6'2" bulk. My hair is a mess; dark circles line my eyes.

Cliff stares at me too. "What?" I ask, but he's silent. I start walking again. He runs to catch up. "Sorry," he says. "For a second I thought..."

"Thought what?" I ask. But I don't get to find out. A black car speeds down the street, aimed straight for us. Cliff dives in front of me.

The car swerves at the last second, but something flies out the window at us. At me. It lands at my feet. The car floors it out of town.

Cliff reaches for the package, but I grab his hand. "Bomb" is the first thought exploding in my brain.

When a few seconds pass and nothing has blown up, I break a branch from a streetside tree, and poke the brown paper wrapping the package.

Several passersby have stopped, and Cliff is telling them something, but I'm intent on the paper. It's scotch-taped, but I break that open.

Inside is a plaque, the words on it scratched into oblivion. But a symbol remains; one I recognize. Circles around a flame, same as on my back.

I want to look at the tattoo again in the window's reflection, but there are too many people now. I grab Cliff's hand. "Let's go." He nods.

That's what I notice the writing, printed in short block letters around the inside of the wrapping paper.

'Don't bother running,' it reads. 'Leave Mr. Bass out of this, or you'll make it worse for yourself.' Cliff watches me, his eyes concerned.

I stuff the paper into my pocket. The last thing I want to do is drag him further into this, anyway. Whatever this is...

(Part 4) No Place Like Home

Cliff gets me a job at the gas station. I doubt anyone believes the we're-cousins story, but it says a lot about him that no one complains.

My first day is miserable. Cliff drops me off on his way to the farm at 6am. The manager points me to the register and a line of angry customers.

It takes me the better part of the morning to learn to work the register and the lottery machine. People aren't patient at 7am on a work day.

By the time Cliff picks me up that afternoon at 5, I'm ready to pass out. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks sarcastically as I collapse in the truck.

"I have a feeling being shot at was more pleasurable," I reply, touching the gunshot wound in my shoulder.

When we get back to his house, the door is ajar. "Hmm... Thought I locked that," he mumbles as we pass inside. But nothing is out of place.

He heads for the kitchen, to make sandwiches, I know. Since I've been here, they're all the food we've had. I've no right to complain, though.

As he putters around, shouting to ask if I'd like mayo or mustard, I see it. In the corner behind the couch, where my things are piled...

It looks like nothing at first. Just a ball of brown paper. But as I pick it up,I realize it is the same kind of paper that wrapped my package.

I uncrumple it, smooth it on the coffee table. The writing is in the same hand, but the words are different. "Midnight. Lake in the woods."

It is unsigned. "Sorry it's turkey again," Cliff says, entering suddenly. I startle, shove the paper under the couch cushion. "S'all we have."

I try to stay awake for the midnight meeting, but I'm out by seven o'clock. I don't know how much rest I got before the dreams came again.

This time I stand in an office with two men arguing. On the desk is a paperweight I recognize. Earlier today someone threw it at me from a car.

I scoot closer, try to read the name on it. Just as I do, one of the men moves in front of me, blocks my vision. "What do you think, j?"

I look up at him, startled. His face is unfamiliar, handsome though. His black eyes seem to deepen when he smiles. I stammer some reply.

"We do need your opinion," he says, as if my response was coherent. "You're our most valuable asset, after all." He steps closer. "I value you."

The other man is talking again, louder, but the one before me ignores him. He touches my shoulder in a familiar, possessive way.

"Be careful with her, Rick," he says. The man chuckles. Then the whole scene explodes, erupts with flames. My eyes burn with the brightness.

I wake up with a gasp this time, luckily not loud enough to wake Cliff. The clock in the kitchen glows at me. It's eleven fifty-nine.

Moving quietly as possible, I slip outside. The yard is dark this time, clouded. But I can still see the car parked at the end of the drive.

I can't tell if it's the same car that passed us on the street that day. My heart pounds as I walk toward it. A voice calls out.

"That's far enough." I stop dead in my tracks, squint, but I can't see anyone near the car, or in it. "Who are you?" I call back.

"I believe you know that, Lucinda." The tree to my left could be where the voice comes from. "My name is j," I reply. "You've made a mistake."

They laugh, at least two people. The speaker is a man, that much I can tell. "I don't know who you are, but you've got the wrong person."

"Your gunshot scar's visible from here, darling," says a new voice. "Did that break make you dumb, or do you really think we're that slow?"

I touch my shoulder reflexively. In my tank top, the scar is revealed, true. I didn't know I should be hiding it. "What do you want?"

"We want to know where the kid is. And don't play dumb or try to run for it, or we'll take it out on your friend in there. Not that you care."

I close my eyes, try to remember. Kid. What kid? I don't have stretch marks - I'm pretty sure I have no children.

"You have until the count of ten. Rory?" The second person stepped forward. He was male too, but shorter, as if... No. I shivered.

It was just a kid. Twelve, maybe thirteen at most. But in his right hand was a gun, trained on me, and in his left a small, round object...

"Ten. Nine." "Wait! What's in his hand?" I shout. "Eight. Seven." The kid raises the object to his mouth, bites down on something above it.

"Six. Five." A pin, I realize. It's a grenade. "Four." I don't wait to hear the rest--I sprint for the house. "Three." Shots fire, miss me.

I dive through the open door. "Cliff!" I can't hear the counting in here, but I don't pause to try. I run for his bedroom. "Cliff, please!"