Post by StoryGirl83 on Jul 11, 2009 19:08:15 GMT -5
Chapter Three – First Encounters of the Familiar Kind
Chris didn’t know how to respond. She was sitting at the table with a dark haired man and a dark haired toddler. This was probably the table Emily had mentioned in the kitchen. Not that is mattered. She was there.
She also didn’t know him. And she was married if the man and the toddler where any indication. He cursed the demon who had fixed his memories, so that he remembered everything. He cursed the elder who had stabbed him. He cursed anyone who had anything to do with why he had two sets of memories, including his other self.
He breathed in hard. It shouldn’t matter. She was nothing to him. She was someone to the other Chris, the ones whose memories he had inherited. Just as with everyone else, she wasn’t even the same person. Oh, she looked like her . . . sort of . . . but over two decades of her life were potentially that of someone entirely else. She wasn’t the Bianca the other Chris had known.
It should not matter that she was here. She was a stranger to him and he was even more of a stranger to her. He at least knew of a time when they weren’t. She didn’t. And like so many others that Chris had known, she had been one who had not survived. It would do no good to approach her.
Having decided it was best to just try and pretend he hadn’t seen Bianca, Chris headed toward the kitchen. He didn’t see Bianca lean over and whisper something to her husband and then stand up. He was almost to the door when something told him to turn around. He did and there she was with her hand raised to try and get his attention.
“Oh.”
Unsure what to say and even more unsure why she had approached him, he waited.
“I heard you say your name was Chris.”
He nodded.
“Christopher Halliwell?”
He nodded, again.
“I’m Bianca Holbrooke,” she informed him. “I need to talk to you.”
“I can’t imagine what about,” he mused aloud, more focused on how uncomfortable he was than on anything else in that moment. A thought came to mind and he gave her an apologetic look. “Is everything all right with your food?”
“It’s not about the food,” she informed him, sounding slightly annoyed. She glanced around at the busy dining room and shook her head. “Look, this is important. And I can’t talk to you here.”
“I can’t leave here,” Chris protested. “I’m the only chef working tonight and I’m in charge.”
“You and your brother are being targeted,” she whispered. “You can’t just ignore that.” She sighed before he could respond. “Fine, tell me how to reach your brother and I’ll talk to him.”
He frowned. “Targeted? By whom?”
She glanced around. “I can’t talk to you here.”
“And I can’t leave,” Chris insisted. He sighed and dug his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and hoped that unlike the last time he tried to use it, this time it would work.