Taken

4 - Recent Memories

Jessalyn felt her limbs go cold. From her fingers to her shoulders, her toes to her thighs. They felt suddenly heavy as realization curled and twisted in her gut. She was in her head. Of course she would know what she was thinking. Did that mean she knew every other thought she'd had before too? Quickly, she tried to remember everything she had inwardly called the child. Before she could get far, the little thing interrupted.
"It's 'Illya,' not 'the child' or 'the girl.' I've already told you before, I am no little kid." The way she said it rang familiar. No way. They'd had a similar discussion back in the factory, when she'd been trying to break the hold her nightmare had over her. More specifically, when Illya had pulled her out it.
        For a moment all she could do was stare in a peculiar mixture of awe and fear at the girl. If she wasn't a monster, as she had so pointedly said, then what was she exactly? A demon? A mutant? An artificial being? Or had Jessalyn officially lost it?
        Illya sighed, closing her eyes and her mind from the woman's swirling thoughts. She was just so tiresome sometimes.
        "Enough. I came here for a reason. If you would cease your theorizing for a moment, I'll tell you what that reason is."
Jessalyn obeyed. It was a strange feeling this girl brought about her. As if she was speaking with someone much older than her, wiser and more knowledgeable than she could ever imagine. She felt small compared to her. Absurdly, the notion made her want to laugh, even as shivers raced over her skin. Jessalyn could hardly understand the things going on inside her own mind.
        "Good enough I suppose," the girl muttered. To Jessalyn, she said, "You believe Philip Darlan is the reason your brother passed away, correct?"
Jessalyn watched her carefully. Besides disrupting dreams and eavesdropping on people's thoughts, it appeared she could also sift through memories. Either that, or she was overestimating the little creature and she simply already knew before hand. The woman hadn't exactly been quiet with her claims.
She smiled grimly, her skin heating and stomach boiling. "I saw him kill him."
There was a brief pause. Though as per usual, nothing in the girl's demeanor changed. After only a second it was clear she understood something perhaps she had not meant to know. Her eyes widened imperceptibly as her hand clenched the skirts of her dress.
"That... no," she ground out. As soon as the word left her mouth, she winced. "I see why I was needed then. I'm... I'm truly sorry, Jessalyn Blake."

-:- -:- -:-

"Mikael." Philip addressed the young man in front of him with the same business-like tone he used to address all of his associates. It didn't matter that he was of his own blood; they both knew a father and son relationship had never worked for the two entrepreneurs. With a brief glance at his watch and the thin row of lights along the bottom edge, he gestured for his son to walk with him as he exited the room.
        Moments before, he and Hew Finor had discussed an important development that would be impertinent to his working capabilities. The man was to be his successor. With that promotion came a new office, even more resources, and access to nearly all of his father's data and records. It also meant he would have to be introduced to Philip's 'strongest asset'.
        Mikael had known for a while now that he would soon be named as heir of Dover Trading. His parents had discussed it at length over dinner conversations, debating whether he or Geoffrey Spiedriche would be the best choice in this immense and hefty decision. For a little over a month now it had been very clear that the position would be his. What was never a part of the conversations, however, was this 'asset' they spoke of now. Whether it was an employee or an object he couldn't tell by the context. Whatever it was, it put a little bounce and speed in Philip's leisurely steps.
        Hew walked quickly behind the young man, pushing him forward and forcing him much closer to the man ahead of him than he would have preferred. Halfway to the elevators, they turned abruptly, nearly sending him into a graceless tumble. He struggled to remain upright and continued along, not a word leaving his mouth. The staircase they entered was dark and cold, a seldom used access reserved only for when the Darlan family or Finor's were in a rush and needed to cut through the busy entryways.
        It wasn't until they reached Hew's office — a floor down along the south side of the building — that anything else was said. Inside the spacious room, with its dark wood paneling and old fashioned light fixtures, he almost wasn't surprised to see a clear glass bottle sitting on the large oak desk. With everything else so decoratively ornamented, from the great antique desk to the wrought iron lamps, it only seemed fitting he'd also possess an old medicinal bottle or two.
        "Until you are properly prepared for the trip," Philip said smoothly, "we are going to have to do this a little differently."
        Hew handed him the bottle, as well as the handkerchief from his pocket. As they got closer to the young man, he felt his nerves twitch, a small trembling beginning in his back.
        The cloth was placed over the lower half of his face before he could even think of what he meant. For a few heartbeats, he held his breath, attempting to read his father's gaze before he succumbed to the toxin. But one hard look from the older man and he obeyed. Who was he to argue? Philip Darlan was not a man without reason. His actions were always carefully thought out, always the best for both him and the company. It's not like this was the first time he'd been knocked out before they took him somewhere more lucrative either. His father liked to cover any liabilities, even if that were his own son. Mikael had long understood this.
        So he took a deep breath. And another. Midway through his third, his eyes couldn't stay open any longer, and he sank into sleep.

        -:- -:- -:-

        When Illya came to, she was surprised to find herself lying in her bed, a fluffy white comforter pulled up over her shoulders. The last time she'd been awake, she had been seated in the next room, once again holding the glossy vase.
She was careful. Slowly tracing her way back to Jessalyn's dreamland, purposely taking wrong turns and getting momentarily 'lost'. It didn't appear as if Philip knew what she was doing, but he was a smart man. He knew how to keep a straight face. He knew when it was best to pretend.
Now, she pulled the blanket back. Surprise again coursed through her as she saw the new dress she wore. It was white, as was typical, with lace on the neckline and long gauzy sleeves, dotted with little flowers — stems included — all the way from her shoulders to just past her wrists. The body of it was layered, and poofed out around her legs, looking billowy and soft as it scratched and itched her skin underneath.
Illya slid slowly from her bed, her feet lightly hitting the floor. This time there was nothing to be stepped on, though random toys and objects still lay scattered all over the floor. Illya loosed a quiet breath. Eyes closed, she remember her last moments with Jessalyn before the hidden door glided noiselessly to the side, Philip's footsteps interrupting her thoughts.
        Opening her eyes to look up at the man, she felt two other presences as well. One was clearly Hew Darlan, as no other man could think of the things he did, and the other... she didn't know this one. A brief scan of his dreams only told her he was a young male. She didn't have time to dig deeper before Philip began speaking.
        "Do you remember when I told you I would finally be naming an heir? I couldn't decide between sir Spiedriche and my only son then." He smiled here, looking down at her. Something about it always appeared calculated, as if he couldn't show happiness that wasn't specifically measured out and allotted for certain moments. Her own expression remained the same as he spoke: calm, collected, sleepy.
        "I take it you've decided now."
         His smile grew wider, "Yes. As you can imagine, it was a tough decision to make. But as heir it's time my son finally met you."
        It was then, in the next room, that Hew Finor shook the young man awake. He lay there for a full minute before jolting up with his last waking memory replaying in his mind. Illya watched it, noting the smugness of Philip's smile. He'd known she'd look. After all, it was her curiosity of how the rooms worked that had him shutting her out now.
        Knowing his memory would be the same, she grazed Hew's mind anyway. Just that touch had her shuddering away from the open doorway, her stomach curling violently.
        The man chuckled at the quickly waking man beside him. "Boy, I think you're going to like this."

.............

No one ever answers my questions. And that makes me sad.

That being said, I have another question: What do you think of backstories? I find them very boring to read in most cases, but some people really like them. Some are needed for this story to make sense, but I'm trying to figure out how to do it in an interesting way that won't bore you to death.

4/26/18 - 9:00 am.

.........

16 year old me would have shit herself if she knew where I was editing this now. I'm literally at the Kentucky Derby. Of all places, this is where I ended up today.

When I originally posted these, I had them dated accurately. But when I reposted it here, I copied and pasted everything, including my little notes on the end from when I was 16 and thought no one would ever look at these. The only thing I changed was the year. I'm debating changing them back to 2016. I don't know why at the time I thought no one would read a story that was posted two years after I wrote the first like seven chapters. I didn't date any of the drafts after that so I'm basing it on when they were last edited. Thank god this website actually tells you that.

5/4/23 - 11:34 am.