Of the few memories I grasp, the clearest ones are of that world. They are little more than flashes, but they are visceral and terrifying. A sharp, medicinal smell burns in my nose and creates a metallic taste down the back of my throat when I breathe. Hands grab me, moving me onto a hard, rolling table. Bright lights explode against my eyelids. When I think of them now, I know they were trying to save me. It still makes my throat tighten and my heart pound in my ears.

  “You know I’ll always keep you safe,” Charles says. He glances down at his watch. “I tell you what. I’m going to call the office and tell them I won’t be able to come in for the rest of the day. That way, I can stay with you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say.

  Even as I say it, I hope he stays. Having him here with me leaves less room for the silence.

  “Yes, I do, Darling. I can see how shaken up you are. We’ll decorate together, and I can do some work here while you do the Christmas cards.”

  I nod as he stands and leans down to kiss me on the top of the head. He leaves the kitchen to head for his den while I clean up the dishes. There’s enough coffee in the percolator to top off his cup, so I fill it and carry it to the den. I can hear Charles talking as I walk down the hallway.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t give up hope. You know how women can be. With Christmas coming, I wouldn’t be surprised if you came home from work and found her in the kitchen making fudge like nothing has happened.”

  The conversation piques my curiosity, but I don’t linger in the hallway. I don’t want him discovering me out here and thinking I’m eavesdropping on him.

  I’m back in the living room with the boxes of Christmas decorations giving off their scent from years past when Charles comes in. He’s slipping his coat on over his suit and has his hat gripped in one hand.

  “I’m sorry, Darling,” he frowns. “Work is too busy this afternoon for me to not be there. Since we’re breaking soon for Christmas, we want to get as much done as possible before then, and they don’t think they can handle it without me.”

  A dial clicks inside me. I offer him a smile.

  “That’s because you’re so important,” I tell him. “Of course, they can’t get on without you.”

  Charles grins and crosses the room to me. His hands feel strong on my hips, like they’re both holding me up and keeping me in place. He kisses me quickly, rethinks it when his lips are barely off mine, and dips down for a longer, softer one.

  “I won’t be late,” he promises. “After supper, we’ll get that tree decorated and see if there’s a Christmas special on the television so we can cozy up and watch it together.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Good. Be brave, Darling. Everything is alright. Spend some time really looking at the Christmas things. Maybe it will bring back some memories for you.”

  Adjusting his hat in place, Charles lifts the collar of his coat to protect his neck from the cold and gives a final wave before leaving the house. The shutting of the first door tells me he’s gone. The second reminds me I’m alone. Perry Cuomo’s crooning brings an unexpected sting of tears to my eyes.

  There’s no place like home for the holidays…

  Chapter Three

  Charles

  The front door closing sounded loud against the still quiet of the early afternoon. Charles stepped out onto the front porch and adjusted his hat. Light glinted through the window of the house across the street, reflecting off the bright tinsel draped over the branches of their Christmas tree. At exactly six that night, the multi-colored bulbs would pop on. It was steady and predictable, exactly as he liked it.

  He looked out over the lawn. Each blade of grass was exactly the right length, but there was something off. It angled his face down and dampened the spirit brought on by the music and the decorations. Crossing the yard, he reached down and gathered the dried leaves from beneath the rose bushes. Once satisfied by the neatness of his yard again, Charles climbed into his powder blue car and broke the winter silence with the roar of the engine before driving out of the neighborhood.

  The drive to the office was only a few minutes, and he hummed a Christmas carol to himself as he drove. All around him, the holiday season was in full force. Lights strung across the street waited for illumination when evening would fall. Houses had been neatened up, and candles burned in some of the windows. Only a few more days of work, and then he’d be able to retreat home and enjoy the rest of the season with Mary.

  A young man he had recently hired waved at Charles from across the parking lot as he pulled into his designated spot. He didn’t remember his name. His role was small, and he’d only be around for a few weeks, so Charles didn’t feel the need to learn much about him. As the man paused to open the door for a secretary going inside, Charles committed the image to mind. Maybe he would take note of the young man’s name and contact information. If he does well in this position, he might have more opportunities in the future.

  Water glasses and stacks of paper cluttered the large, long table as Charles walked into the conference room. The rest of the team looked up at him with the weary eyes of men who’d taken their lunch in the building. They were ready to break for the holiday season and take some time away from this project to breathe. It had been a long and challenging experience so far. Unexpected delays, legal threats, and major changes to the original plans meant stretched days and countless mugs of coffee. But it was coming together. Soon he’d have what he’d been working toward for years.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as he hung his coat on the rack and dropped his hat on top. “How was your lunch?”

  There were a few half-hearted responses, but his smile didn’t waver. Charles couldn’t help but feel for the men flanking the long brown table who didn’t have what he did. A few of them brought lunches their wives packed for them. Others ducked over to the diner not far from the office to pick up a sandwich or, if they were lucky, a box of fried chicken. None went home to wives waiting to prepare their lunch and give them a break in the middle of the day.

  He was a lucky man.

  “Lovely,” Daniel Pierce said to his left, pushing past the topic and moving on. “We finished those interviews.”

  “Great. How did they go?” Charles asked.

  The LB Project was his passion project. Filling the gap left by the woman who walked away months before had been a frustration he’d be glad to have over.

  “We’ve shortlisted six for the next steps,” Pierce continued. “All but two agreed to come back next week.”

  “Then you’ve shortlisted four.”

  “It is the holidays,” Gregory Harmon pointed out from the other side of the table. “They didn’t want to say no but had already made plans to travel to see their families. In any other circumstances…”

  “Well, this is not ‘any other circumstances’,” Charles said firmly. “This project has already been delayed enough. If the candidates are not able to fulfill the requirements, they are no longer qualified. You should be happy about that. It simplifies the process. We just went from six options to four. When that’s finished next week, we’ll be another step closer to finally getting this finished. Now, update me on the progress of the rewrite.”

  Papers shifted across the table, and several of the men took turns speaking. Their words piled up on top of each other, each of them offering pieces of a larger picture that gradually fit in around each other. The final image was forming. It had already been finalized once before. At least, Charles thought it had been. Clear and precise, it was the vision he’d carried for years. Until it suddenly changed.

  For six months, since just before his wife’s accident, he had been trying to find it again. Just like Mary’s memories, he was rebuilding.

  The men around the table grew restless as the hours ticked by. Charles could almost set his watch by them. There was a distinct moment when their minds had left the office and were already headed back home. All but one of them.

  He ended the meeting and watched the ginger-haired man stay behind. He was moving through a different space than the rest. Everyone else knew what was behind them and what was ahead. They went from moment to moment without thinking. This man couldn’t do that. His moments weren’t his own anymore. They’d been taken and carried away. He moved like he was trying to stay in the last one that he recognized, waiting for the rest to lay out in front of him again.

  Charles wondered how long it would take for him to accept they never would.

  The man finished tucking his papers into his briefcase and gave a single nod toward Charles before starting for the door. Charles stepped up beside him.

  “How are you doing, Helmsworth?” he asked. “Getting along alright?”

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” the younger man told him.

  Charles followed him out of the conference room and walked alongside him, out of the office building.

  “Like I told you, she’s just being a woman. They get silly sometimes.”

  Helmsworth shook his head.

  “Not Liza. She’s never been that way. This isn’t like her.”

  Charles paused next to his car and reached out his hand toward the other man.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, Nick.”

  A flicker of emotion passed over Helmsworth’s eyes, darkening the green just slightly.

  “And your wife?” he asked. “How is she?”

  “Showing progress every day,” Charles said with a grateful sigh. “She’s had a few setbacks, of course. The doctors prepared us for that. But we’re choosing to focus on the ways she’s getting better. We were looking at pictures of us over lunch, and I think she almost remembered.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Have a good evening, Helmsworth. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Charles ducked into the driver’s seat and waited for his hands to warm the leather on his steering wheel before heading back home, glad to know Mary would be there waiting for him.

  LB Project – Pg. 25

  “Behind Blue Eyes”: Int. Large, Dingy Bathroom

  A shower is audible in the background. A woman humming/singing quietly to herself. Steam covers the mirror. Just before it completely conceals the glass, the reflection of a DARK FIGURE appears in the corner.

  Indistinct Voice: (whispers)

  “Violet.”

  A hand wearing a black glove touches the glass and glides down. Words appear in the steam on the mirror. The dark figure steps away, revealing the message:

  You can’t leave yet

  Chapter Four

  Nick

  When he wasn’t listening, Nick Helmsworth called him ‘The Boss’. Or sometimes just ‘Boss’. When he was listening, Nick didn’t call him anything. At least, not when he didn’t have to. It’s not that he disliked The Boss. It would be difficult to really dislike someone as overwhelmingly inoffensive as him. That’s really the only way Nick could think of to fully encapsulate Boss. The name was almost a joke. He was in charge of the company and kept himself at the top of the hierarchy for all projects, but there was nothing aggressive or demanding about him.

  At least, not usually. Nick had seen him riled up before. But only when it came to this particular project. It was all The Boss talked about. He had for more than two years now. What had started as an idea had become an obsession, eclipsing everything else. The only time they worked on anything else was when their schedule came to a grinding halt this summer.

  That happens when someone dies.

  Instead, Nick called him The Boss, because it kept him right in the position he wanted him in. If Nick used his last name, it fed into the power division and fracturing of the team. If he used his first name, it was too casual. So, it was Boss.

  It already seemed like The Boss was angling for a friendship with Nick, acting like they were buddies who knew each other well enough to delve into the private realities of their marriages. He didn’t dislike Boss, but they’d never tipped back a couple of beers and waxed poetic about what they were going through with their wives. Even after as much time as they had spent together, that sort of camaraderie had never existed between them. But if there was ever going to be an appropriate time to change that, Nick supposed this was it.

  He'd been the first at the office to notice how uncharacteristically disheveled Boss looked that morning when he came into work. Nick had seen the dry reddish drops on the cuff of his sleeve and asked about them. He’d been the one to listen to the harrowing story of The Boss’s wife and her accident, the sleepless night that followed, and the hazy morning getting dressed in un-ironed clothes and the shirt he’d been wearing when he stood beside her in the hospital.

  Nick had gone home that night to hug his wife tight. At least he would have if he hadn't walked into a dark, empty house, and remembered it had been a week since she walked out. He couldn’t hold Liza to him and breathe her in. He couldn’t talk to her over dinner and shake the images from his mind. He couldn’t tuck close into bed beside her and let her warm, bare skin reassure him.

  All he could do was reread the note she left behind. Nick hadn’t moved it from the place where he found it on the table in the foyer. The small silver bowl there was supposed to hold his keys. Now it held the piece of paper with his name emblazoned across the top and her sparse goodbye filling less than half of the empty space. There it all was. Liza condensing three years of marriage into half a piece of stationery, and nothing but her name in the empty space beneath.

  That was in the blazing, suffocating heat of the summer. The temperature and humidity had crept up through June, egged on by the growing pressure at work. The Boss’s project had collapsed, police and the papers were breathing down their necks, and Nick’s climb up the ladder at the company had become even more precarious. Somewhere in there, he’d lost sight of Liza. He hadn’t realized it. It was never his intention. Wherever he went, he thought of her. He squirreled away funny moments in his mind so he could share them with her later. He readily showed off her picture and talked about the life they were building together. Not newlyweds anymore. But not yet fully settled into the rhythm of their marriage.

  Liza was always on his mind, whether she knew it or not. Apparently not.

  Neglected. Ignored. Lonely.

  Those were words Nick had heard from wives before, but not Liza. He never thought he’d hear them from her. But the note went on. In a handful of lines, she had dismantled their relationship and all he thought they’d shared. She resented having to work. She wanted a family. She hated the tiny house he’d presented to her after they got married.

  Each word chipped away at Nick until he no longer knew what he was supposed to think. This wasn’t the marriage he remembered. But maybe that was the problem. He lived so much in his own vision of the life they shared that it had never occurred to him that Liza might not be walking along beside him.

  That was six months ago, and he was still alone. And The Boss insisted on checking on him with increasing frequency. It made sense. Christmas was days away, and there wasn’t a single place Nick could go that didn’t force on him reminders of what he should have and had lost. Every storefront, every advertisement, every song on the radio underscored Nick’s emptiness.

  But Boss made him feel worse. It wasn’t like Nick could pretend this wasn’t happening. Everyone at the office knew what was going on and had ever since he came in feeling drained of every drop of life. Some had offered the type of encouraging words you’re supposed to give a friend going through something like this. They’d clapped him on the back and told him to keep his chin up. A few offered those cold beers and understanding, commiserating ears. But then they let it go. Conversations became gestures, became knowing looks, became pretending it wasn’t happening because it was easier for everyone.

  Except for Boss. He never stopped asking. It made Nick feel guilty that he’d give that much thought when he was dealing with plenty of his own with his wife’s injuries. At the same time, Nick sometimes wondered if that’s why The Boss asked him. He could stop worrying about his own troubles for a minute and remind himself that when he got home, at least he’d get to hold his wife. She may be gradually piecing the years of their marriage back together in her mind, but at least they weren’t written across cream-colored stationery in blue pen and sitting at the bottom of a silver key-bowl.

  Nick forced himself to stop thinking about Liza and let his brain drift back to work. Traffic was terrible with rush-hour commuters and holiday shoppers. He knew the trip home would move like the grey snow sludge moving down the gutters, and thinking about work meant he didn’t have to torture himself thinking about Liza.

  The first in-person hiring round had gone well that day. A crowd of women showed up in the lobby of the office, a sea of pencil skirts and leather gloves that assured they’d read the instructions carefully. The two who showed up in slacks were quickly escorted away. That would never do for The Boss. People got one chance to follow instructions and do things the way he wanted them. Not following them wasn’t just a disappointment in that moment. It was a sign of a character flaw, and he had little patience for that when it came to his company.

  With only four women to push through the rest of the process, there was actually a chance of selecting the right one before they broke for the holidays. That would be a weight off Nick’s shoulders. Ever since Vanessa got spooked and walked off set, refusing to continue with the project, the need to replace her had been hanging on him. Technically, it wasn’t meant to be his responsibility. There were other members of the team who were supposed to handle things like that. But Nick was determined to advance through the ranks and be recognized for as much as he put into his career. He didn’t want to be on the outskirts forever. So, he took an active role in the tedious task.