Alone in the Dark - A Dark Ghost Sequel

TWO

Somehow, I knew where to go. I couldn't explain it. I just knew. Yeah, I got a lot of weird looks as I got on the bus to Lodi— who wouldn't be confused by a twenty-something girl in a hospital gown and a half-torn leather jacket?

Once I sat down on the bus, I looked at my hands. There were faint scars peppering my knuckles, and I tried to concentrate on where I had gotten them. Searching through my maze of memories was hard, it was like I had all of the pieces of the puzzle but none of them fit together? I had either names or faces, not both. I had memories floating about but without any sense of time. Something could've been seven years ago, right before I got injured, or it could've been when I was six... I just couldn't tell. 

The only thing I was completely sure of was that I was at this place, and I needed to go back. I was there. Before it happened. Since it was the last place I remember being, so far, it was my best shot at jogging my memory. 

I hugged the bloodstained, torn, slightly oversized jacket around me. I needed a change of clothes, this hospital outfit just wasn't doing it for me. I continued to look at the scars on my hands, wondering how, when and where I had gotten them nothing seemed to work. Eventually, I gave up, spending the rest of the journey staring at my reflection in the window. My dark hair was cut to my chin, in a pixie cut sort of style. It curled around my ears a little and there was a slightly fuzzy bit on top that resembled a fringe and I had to keep blowing it out of my face to see occasionally. Had it always been like this?

5: My hair is out to get me. Half the time, I can't see a fucking thing, and I'm beginning to think it's a hazard.

I got off the bus and trudged the long walk towards a somewhat familiar-looking bar. Smileys.

"Christ, what's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?"

The most clichéd line ever popped into my head, echoed in a southern accent. Someone had to have said that to me once. Who? I pushed the thought down, not wanting to concentrate on it and instead walked around to the back of the bar. No, there was no point in going this way. The door had to be opened from the inside. I walked around towards one of the large warehouses and tried getting in through there instead. 

The place had been trashed. The door was busted and I had to jam my shoulder into it to get through. A white sheet was hung up, and a few chairs were haphazardly placed near it. Something meaningful happened here at some point. I didn't know what, but I couldn't help but feel pride. Proud of something, someone. So focused on the emotion, I didn't notice the broom sticking out and suddenly I was face down on the hard concrete. It took longer than it should have to pick myself up and as soon as I finally had, I noticed what was painted on the floor. 

A crescent new moon.

The image flickered through my mind like a trigger. I saw it painted on the side of a truck. On a bike helmet. On a bike itself, with someone polishing it and accidentally wiping oil on his face.

I had to stop, almost forgetting to breathe. Who the hell was that?

He was laughing, singing along badly and driving a beat-up old minivan. The minivan. Black Betty. Are you fucking kidding me right now? I can't remember the names of anyone I used to know, or who I was with at the time, can't even remember my own damn name... but I can remember the name of the fucking Nissan? I wiped my face and wrapped my arms around my knees, resting my head on them and trying to think.

I was sitting directly on top of the moon on the floor.

Nothing. I needed somewhere else, somewhere better... somewhere with more memories. For some reason, LA sprung to mind, but it also at the same time didn't seem like an option. 

I took a breath. This wasn't working, I was just confusing myself. Pulling myself up using the table, I walked towards the stairs and climbed them. Although rusty, the door was unlocked, and I followed the dark tunnel into a kitchen.

"Why in the world did they have to take the light bulbs too?" What I could only assume was the same southern voice from earlier. God, who did I spend so much time with that their voice was practically engraved into my mind? 

On my way upstairs, I passed the gym. There was a mirror in there, but it was cracked. I traced the cracks with my finger. They spiralled out from a point of impact and I rested my own fist in the little dent. This wasn't mine. I didn't do this. Yet, I felt like I'd done it before? Not here. Somewhere else? But... where?

I left the gym and made my way upstairs again. Instinctively, I opened one of the doors. The room was a complete mess, there were clothes on the floor and what could possibly be dents in the walls. A leather jacket, identical to the one I was wearing— only in much, much better condition— hung on a chair, and after a considerable amount of inner debating, I slipped mine off to exchange it for this newer one.

A lone laptop sat at the desk, and I reached for it, curiosity taking over. No password, which was good. I went straight into search and typed in the name I remembered from the news. Suzume Kimura, and the page practically exploded with information.

Psi spokesperson, interim government. Psion Ring. Yellow. Electrokinetic.

I went to the images page and a dozen photos came up. She was constantly standing next to the same boy, slightly older and with his arm around her a lot. Not like a boyfriend, but like a protective older brother. I clicked on one of the pictures and read the description. Suzume Kimura and Charles Meriwether IV. Jesus, that's a long name. A voice appeared in my head— not the southern one from before, a different one, it belonged to a girl.

"Chubby Chubby Choo Choo, I almost pissed myself." A girl's voice spoke, a voice I recognised yet still couldn't quite place. 

6: For some reason, I think this Charles person can help me.

Next search: Charles Meriwether, address.