Page 9 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

“I really thought I’d never see you again, Rob.” He gave a pained sigh. “Will you hate me forever if I tell you that I let you go into that basement, truly believing that you were lying about coming back to me?”

I shook my head slowly.

“There is no way he is going to come back for me,” Lucas whispered. “That was the last thought I remember having. I thought you lied to me to make me not be sad to see you go. It didn’t make me hate you. It just made me sad anyway. And, maybe, a little proud. You were my boyfriend, and you were going to take that risk…”

“I was proud to be your boyfriend,” I replied. “I am proud to be your boyfriend.”

“I missed you so fucking much, Rob.”

“Oma kept an eye on you.” I smiled gently. “But I missed you so fucking much, too.”

He smiled. “She did, didn’t she? I think…I mean, I’m not sure…but I think I wanted to be around her because something inside of me told me that being around her meant that I would know as soon as you got back. Or at least, pretty quickly after.”

“I guess that was something you just knew.” I teased. “And you were right.”

“I don’t think I ever really forgot you.” He said. “At least, my body didn’t. Maybe my mind was scrubbed, but something way too deep to be scrubbed away didn’t forget you. It never would have forgotten you.”

“Hey,” I said, “if you’re trying to get into my pants, I don’t even have them on, babe.”

Lucas laughed and glanced down.

“We should probably get out of the shower.” His eyebrow raised. “It’s kind of cold in here.”

I glanced down at my junk.

“Hey!” I leaned forward quickly, wrapping my arms around him.

Lucas did his best to pretend to get away, but my lips found every inch of his face as I kissed him over and over and he laughed uproariously there in the cocoon created by my arms around him. Maybe we had some unpacking to do. Eventually. But Lucas had his memories back. And he wasn’t actually going to turn into a furry, fearsome creature at the next full moon. Unpacking could wait until after we had taken time to become familiar with each other’s bodies again. Now that we both remembered them fully.

The room was cold.

Bitterly cold.

And I had no memory of the room.

But that didn’t keep me from opening my eyes to find that I was lying on the bed in the middle of the room.

It wasn’t apparent at first, due to my confusion at waking up in a strange room, chilled to my bones, but I wasn’t even in Lucas’ house. In fact, I wasn’t sure whose house I was in, actually. The room did not look familiar—but it looked somewhat familiar at the same time. Maybe because it looked like a child’s bedroom—the dark shape of an overflowing bookcase in the corner. A desk for homework along one wall. A toy chest that was overflowing. Cartoon sheets of some kind that I had kicked off in my sleep.

With my child-sized feet.

I gazed down at my body only to find that I was not staring at my body but that of a child—or a very young teen. Maybe a tween? This revelation should have sent a shock of terror up my spine, but I was getting used to the odd things in my life. Instead of screaming out in shock or panicking in any way, I sat up cautiously and swiveled my hips to let my legs dangle off of the side of the bed. Giving a quick glance around the room, looking for any sign of danger, I lowered myself to the floor.

Icy cold floorboards slapped against my feet, and I winced, though I made no noise. It was dark, I had no idea where I was, and there was no way for me to know if there was anyone else in the house. Would someone come to investigate if they heard me? And if someone did come to investigate, would they be dangerous? Harm me in some way? I let my feet adjust to the cold of the floorboards as I scanned the room slowly with my eyes.

Just a typical tween’s room.

Nothing unusual.

Other than the darkness.

Nothing looks normal in the dark.

As I stood there, my feet adjusting to the cold and my eyes adjusting to the darkness, my ears began to pick up the voices.

Beyond the door positioned at the opposite side of the room, someone was talking. Low and rumbly, the voices sounded muffled and hollow. My feet began to move without me willing it, and I found myself being drawn towards the bedroom door. The cold was pervasive, making my feet—well, the feet I now had—feel like blocks of ice. It pushed through the cotton of the pajamas I was wearing. It slid over and around my body, doing its best to compel me back into bed. To forget the voices and the door.

Suddenly, I found myself in front of the door, my hands reaching out to brace myself against it as my ear moved towards the cold, smooth wood. My ear connected with the icy surface, trying to hear the voices better. To try and figure out what it was they were saying.