The Knife Thrower

Chapter 10

My voice echos through the kitchen, a deep sound that surprised me. People have always said I have a deep voice for a girl, but I never believed them. I listen for any sounds of movement, my instincts kicking in. I edge through the kitchen towards the family room. Nothing. Creeping through the empty dark room I make my way towards the hallway leading to dad and mothers bedroom. I freeze at the door, resting my back against the wooden frame, trying to decide what to do next.

I might just be paranoid, over-reacting from today's interrogation. But something tells me I'm right. I'm not alone in this house.

Counting to ten I jump into the doorway, knees bent and eyes alert, preparing myself for a fight. I blink around the room in surprise, wondering why no one has come to attack me. I look around the room more closely and then I see it. The frame of a skinny man who is clearly unwear I am here. He has his back to me and is sitting on the floor, staring at the wall.

"Your an idiot to leave the back door open and sit with your back to another open door. You could have been dead within seconds." I growl out and he jumps, clearly in a world of his own. He should know better than that. He reluctantly turns around to face me, his eyes glassy and distant.

"Why are you not at school? Is something wrong? Where are Izzy and Jay," he says worriedly, breaking out of his weird spell. His eyes focous more on my now but I can see he is still fragile. I decide to answer all his questions.

"I jumped through a window; yes something is wrong; Izzy and Jay are fine and at school." I stare him straight in the eye, unblinking while I answer him. His expression goes from shocked, to concerned, then just to plain tired. Anyone else might have asked if I were joking, but he knows better. "Where's mother?"

"I couldn't find her. Came back here to see if she was here but... I'm going back out there, I'm going to go find her." We're quiet for a long time, my staring out the small round window and him staring back at the wall. I'm not sure what to say. I wait for him to make the first move.

"Okay," he says eventually, changing topic, "start with what's wrong." Fine by me.

"What's wrong with me?" He looks at me blankly. I give a frustrated sigh. I have to be more precise.

"Why don't I remember anything before my 10th birthday? I have no memories. Want the the truth." He takes a deep breath and it looks like he has aged 5 years in one day.

"When you were a baby, you were born with blue eyes- He starts slowly, but I interrupt.

"But I have black eyes."

"Wait! Just listen." I shut my mouth. "You were born with blue eyes... and you were blind. The doctor couldn't explain it but he said he could fix it." He pauses, waiting for me to say something. Though I'm frozen. My brain is struggling with this weird information that doesn't make any sence. I wait for him to continue.

"They wanted to operate on your eyes, so you would be able to see again. It would have worked, but when you were in the operation, something went wrong. The eyes they were trying to fix, your eyes, got damaged in the procedure. They had no choice but to replace them. It took the doctors two months. You were put in a coma and they replaced the damaged eyes with the man-made eyes."

I don't know what to think, what to say. i stand there staring at him incomprehensibly, head throbbing. I start to massage why temples in a weak attempt to make the pain go away. So my whole life is a lie. I try to process what I know. It turns out my parents are low-life spies and my eyes are man-made because I was born blind with damaged eyes. Great. But that doesn't explain what I wanted to know.

"So that explains why I have night vision and black eyes, but you still haven't answered my question. Why can't I remember it? Why can't I remember anything?" My voice is shaking and I can feel hit, angry tears threatening to fall. Why have they kept this from me? He reaches out to grab my hand but I jerk away.

"Don't touch me," I hiss. He gives me a sad look and starts talking.

"You were two years old when you came fully out of the operation. It took you another two years to get used to your new eyes, so you were still blind. You got your eyesight when you turned four. Then everything was fine... Until you turned seven." His voice breaks and he stops for a moment, trying to get control of his emotions. Finally he continues, "There was an accident, and you had already been through so much pain. We saw you suffering and didn't know what to do... So we took your memory away the day before you turned ten."

"What?" My voice comes out raw and high pitched. "You said you took it away..." I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and take a deep breath.

"...So now I want it back." I say slowly, "I don't care about the pain. You had no right to decide for me to take away my memories."

"Calm down Kyra, it-"

"I will not calm down!" I am hysterical by now, yelling at the top of my lungs, but I don't care. "You lie to me my whole life and take away my memories. I deserve my childhood! The least you can do is give back to me what is rightfully mine."

His eyes plead with me to understand, to walk away. But I can't. I don't care how messed up my childhood was, I want to know about it. He shakes his head in defeat and gets off the floor, walking around to kneel beside the bed. He reaches underneath and pulls out a small, wooden box with my name ingraved on the lid. I snatch it from him, desperate to take back the other part of me, the part that has always been missing. My hands shake and my heart beats so loud I swear he can hear it. He stares at the floor.

"What was the accident?" I whisper, hoping to brace myself before memories come flooding back. He reaches out and grasps my hand, and this time I don't pull away. He looks me steadily in the eyes and lightly kisses my forehead.

"No matter what happens, know that I love you. We were only trying to protect you and I hope that one day you will forgive me. Have courage Kyra," he pulls away and walks out of the room without looking back. I hear the front door click shut and I know he has gone to look for mother. I walk back into the kitchen holding the box and take a seat. Do I really want all these memories back? Whatever happened must have been terrible, for him to say 'He hopes one day I will forgive him.'

I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to calm myself down. I have to know. I need to know who I am and what my past looked like. It's the only way I'll be able to move on with my future, to know my past. Here goes nothing.