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How could she not be an angel?
He swallowed hard. “I’m . . .”
His mind went blank and his heart began to race, his chest heavy. His skin became slick with sweat. Who am I?
He’d somehow made it back to the land of the living, but the black hole had stolen his memories. All he had now was a blank page.
His hands shook as he jerked back the white sheet and fur that covered him. His breaths came fast and hard. “Where am I?”
With quick movements, she stood, knocking her chair to the floor. The candle lamp rocked side to side on the stool that sat next to his bed as she reached for something.
He gained his footing, scanning the room with curious eyes and seeing asingle wooden door with a window beside it. A dark wood stand sat beneath the window with a dry sink atop it. A small wood stove was situated in one corner, and a dresser of drawers was positioned in the other, a mirror hanging above it, reflecting his image.
He walked toward it, never taking his eyes from the man inside the glass. Who was this person? With shaking fingers, he reached for his face.
He did not know this being with sandy-colored hair and hazel eyes that swirled with confusion. This couldn’t be. How was this possible?
Answers, he needed answers. He turned back to the angel, to this Eva.
She had a gun trained on him. Gone was the soft expression in her eyes, the sweet smile she had only moments ago graced him with.
The angel had turned into a warrior. Her hawk-like stare didn’t miss a trick as she moved to the other side of the room. “Easy now, no one is going to hurt you. You’re in Everwood, what used to be the Adirondacks... you know, New York?”
With slow movements, he held up his hands. “How did I get here? Where did I come from? What’s my name? What happened—”
She lowered the gun, her expression softening. “You don’t remember?”
“No.”
Her forehead crinkled as she tilted her head to the side. “Here.” She reached for material folded neatly on the floor, then tossed them to him. “Get dressed. We have much to discuss.”
He caught the fabric and used it as a shield to cover his forgotten nudity. He watched her flush as she stepped to the exit. She paused for a second, looked over her shoulder at him briefly, then disappeared through the door.
Only moments ago, he thought he was escaping into death. Now his mission was to find out who he was, to recall a glimpse of his past, of memories that seemed lost to him. Maybe if this Eva was able to shed some light on what happened, he might remember. Anything.
Had his clothes been cleaned? Better yet, were they even his to begin with? They smelled of sunlight and pine.
Where did she say they were?
Everwood.
He heaved his shirt over his head. The pain was immediate, and his hands went to his stomach. He found rough string sewn into his skin. Dry blood outlined the black stitches, along with a dark purple bruise. How had he received this wound?
He eased the gray cotton shirt down around his abdomen, pulled on the jeans, and ran his fingers over the clothes, smoothing the material of any wrinkles.
In the spot she had gathered the items were brown leather boots about his size. He grabbed them and removed the black socks that were stuffed into them. He moved to sit on the cot that had once been his personal hell as his eyes traveled back to the dresser, more specifically the picture that sat atop it. It was the angel, Eva, and a woman.
Eva was a young girl in the photo, and she resembled the older woman. Who was this woman to Eva? Better yet, who was Eva?
Her lovely voice filled his mind—a familiar tune he couldn’t put his finger on.
Did she remove his clothes, sew up his wounds, and wipe his brow when he was burning? After tying up his boots, he went over to the door, took a deep breath, and walked out into the fresh air.
“Shit!” He clung to the wood rail after almost falling.
He stared into the night sky, his head hitting the low-hanging leaves and branches as he white knuckled the bar to keep himself steady on the solid platform.
A tree house? No, a tree house village.
