Lost Echoes

Excerpt

Kenzi

Early morning light filters through the thick window, making me think I’ve forgotten something. Somewhere I should be. A performance to put on. But I can’t get out of this room.

I’ve already tried.

My final act is yet to come, and I have to prepare. The stage is set, and people are waiting for me. I’m the main actor. The favorite. Everyone will cheer and beg for more after the last line.

Laurel told me. She’s never wrong.

I spin, turning my back to the window. It’s my job to wait until I’m called to the stage, and I’ll do just that. As long as she wants me to be patient, I will be. She’s the director.

The door still won’t unlock, and the current scene doesn’t call for me, so I walk around the room, running my finger along every smooth surface. Things are so white in here. There’s hardly a splash of color. Must be to keep me from getting distracted. While I wait, I’ll focus on my part.

Click.

I whip around. The door is creaking open from the outside.

Is it Laurel? Could she be here to call me to the stage?

My breath hitches, and I cling to the blanket next to me. What am I thinking? I fluff my hair and stand straight. Need to show her I’m ready and eager to start. I know my lines and will do everything perfectly.

This play will go down in the books. She’ll be so proud.

Someone else steps inside. She’s dressed all in white, like a nurse.

Is there a nurse in this show? I don’t remember a nurse.

I don’t remember my lines.

Terror grips me. I can hardly breathe. My lines! Laurel will be so disappointed.

The stranger in white gives me a tired smile. “How are you doing now?”

She makes it sound as if we’ve already met.

It’s a trick. She’s trying to trap me.

Or it’s a test. Laurel could see if I’m in character.

Why can’t I remember my lines? I just knew them. Had them down perfectly.

“Mackenzie?”

She’s calling me by my full name. Something must be wrong. I stare at her. “Why are you here? Are you the stagehand?”

“I’m checking on you.” She says it like I should already know.

How would that be possible?

“You haven’t touched your breakfast.” Her palms sweep toward a tray on a bed I didn’t notice before. “You have to eat.”

Why is there a bed in my dressing room?

“Aren’t you hungry?”

I don’t know if I am or not. The audience is waiting for me.

“You’re going to turn into skin and bones. We’ll have to feed you through a tube soon, and you don’t want that.”

A tube? I look down at myself. Instead of wearing a beautiful costume, I’m in a checkered hospital gown.

Did Laurel give me a different role? I’m supposed to be the star. That’s what she said. I’m her favorite.

This has to be a test. I press the gown and fluff my hair again. “I’m ready for the stage.”

She sighs. “I’m going to have to get the doctor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please eat.” The woman leaves, mumbling something I can’t make out.

The door slams shut as if it’s heavy, then a lock clicks into place.

My stomach rumbles, but I can’t feel any hunger. Why am I here? What is this place? It’s the strangest dressing room I’ve seen. Now that I think about it, there aren’t any costumes or makeup. There really shouldn’t be a bed. Not unless the play is longer than I remember and Laurel wants me to sleep.

My lines elude me. I’ll let Laurel down if I can’t recall them. What ever will I tell her?

Maybe I should eat the food. It could help my memory.

I have to remember my lines.

My stomach rumbles again. I don’t want to be hungry on set. That won’t be good.

The hospital gown rustles as I walk around the bed, which looks like someone slept in it recently. The covers are rumpled and twisted. Why would Laurel put me in a dressing room with a bed someone else slept in? That doesn’t feel right.

I stop cold as I pass the door.

That smell. I sniff the air. The scent’s familiar, bitter. Antiseptic. Makes me dizzy.

Images swirl in my mind. Faces, voices, but most disturbingly, darkness—so much darkness. Something smells musty, and the air is chilly.

Someone screams. It’s high-pitched, an agonized wail. Then another. A third.

It keeps going.

I cover my ears, but the shrieking doesn’t stop.

It’s coming from inside my mind. This is a memory. Not something happening now. It’s from the past, gone and done. Why do I feel connected to it? It wasn’t me.

But I was there.

Another person cries out, adding to the first person’s pained outbursts. The yells are out of sync, out of tune. Unharmonious. Disturbing.

My head pounds.

Someone says my name, orders me to do something.

They put something cold and metallic into my hand. Tell me to walk toward the noise.

No!

I close my eyes and run. Trip. Knock something over. Something clatters.

The screams continue.

Something wet soaks into my gown, clings to my skin. Blood?

My throat nearly closes as I open my eyes.

I knocked over the tray of food. The drink spilled onto me, and now everything is on the floor.

Click.

The door opens.

A man steps inside. He looks at me with brows arched. One eye is cloudy, and there’s something vaguely familiar about him.

He holds my gaze. Opens his mouth slowly. Says a single word. “Milkshake.”

Everything goes fuzzy. At least the screaming finally stops.

Milkshake…

That’s my trigger word.

What does it trigger?

I think I’m about to find out.