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Chapter 35 – Happy to See Me (Faith POV) Pt. 4

In truth I had never thought of Cynthia the way that Imogen had mentioned, I was too busy trying to figure out what memories were real and which were in fact false. But after our trip, throughout the whole week I was constantly lost in my own head wondering why she had acted the way she did. And with each growing moment, each thought that passed, my anger grew.

Whoever Wyatt was, he had lied to Cynthia, for whatever reason, she had abandoned me. It wasn't that she was separated from me, I could clearly remember us being locked away together, I could remember her saying words, and the concrete turning into sandy chalk. She crawled out of the hole, left me holding Andy, and when she was out, when she had gotten into the air that was poisonous without a suit on, she told me to lift Andy to her, that I could come after.

When I did just as she asked, when I pushed Andy up into her arms, she didn't pull me out next, in fact she began mumbling the words again, words I couldn't understand and she held Andy in one hand, and used the other to cover the hole, to push the chalk back in place. Until it wasn't chalk anymore, it was concrete, it was hard and the hole she used to escape was covered, and I was left alone. Enduring her beatings for leaving – escaping.

"Are you okay?" Samson stopped, my hand in his as we walked to the school from his car on Friday, pulling me from my thoughts. He had asked many times since I returned from shopping with Imogen, but the truth was I couldn't exactly put into words how I was feeling. I had snuck down to the family room, remembering that Samson said there were pictures of Cynthia at her wedding to Danny – his uncle. That night after shopping with Imogen, I waited until the middle of the night, not wanting to go down there, but wanting to see. I had already decided that it wouldn't change how I felt, but it had when I spoke with Imogen.

It wasn't that I was mad she didn't keep me; it was that she left me in that place. A place that after the first night, after gazing at her picture, more memories came back... before I could only remember being so hungry, so thin and having a few slices of bread and water to drink. The same as Cynthia, I could remember her being dragged from the room kicking and screaming while I was left to hold Andy. Then I remembered falling asleep, clawing at the concrete, until my finger bled because I couldn't understand how Cynthia had left the concrete room.

"I'm okay," I whispered looking at him, seeing the disappointment but not understanding why he wore it on his face at my response. Taking my hand in his, he toyed with my nails; looking at the forest green and then finally taking my pinky finger, which has the crackle nail polish that makes it, look like the jaguars' coat. The bottom layers of polish the same reddish brown as Samson's coat, with the black spots over them. "I don't think you're okay, but you also don't want to speak with me yet," he says gazing between my hand in his and my eyes.

Nodding slowly to confirm his statement, I think of the pictures I saw once again.

The wedding pictures, with three young girls, maybe three to six, and Andy the shortest person, standing in a small suit, a smile on his face – the whole group looking blissfully happy. Again I felt a pang of hurt, but it wasn't until I turned to the next picture, watching as for nearly four or five pages the pictures were all of Cynthia with girls I could remember Samson saying were his cousins. She had left me behind, not even in a safe place so she could go be someone else's mother. The pictures were a slap in the face as far as I was concerned.

Yes Dmitri had gotten me out, but Cynthia was my biological parent, shouldn't she have felt anything for leaving me behind? Was the hate so thick that she felt that I didn't deserve the same freedom and happiness as her and Andy? What made it worse, turned my stomach into a mess of knots and unease was that she told the Conrad's that I had died.

They had offered – or would've offered her help to get me, nearly thirteen years ago, however instead of trying to get me, she left me in that place. I couldn't remember everything exactly but she had to have known that it was a bad place? Right? How could she just leave me behind? And since she did... what had I done wrong?

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After shopping, I strike up an easy friendship with Imogen, especially after speaking about her – not in detail of course – with Nova.

Her advice: that I should try and branch out, outside of just the Conrad's.

Just as I enter Latin class, Imogen comes up, her face red and a secret small smile on her face, "Thank you," she says before anything else and for a moment her words don't register and make sense.

"For the dresses," she pushes on, until I'm nodding, "it's not a problem," I reply remembering that on Monday, when we went dress shopping, I had convinced her to try on a few she liked, not purchasing them right away for her, I placed them on hold so I could get them for her the next day. Calling in, paying and then finally having them shipped to the dorms. I'm not in a talking mood, and Imogen seems to catch on rather quickly, tapering down her enthusiasm, the two of us going to our table.

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Samson Conrad POV

Pushing people for information or to talk about their feelings was never a good thing. Rushing or pressuring – them to speak before they felt ready to do so was the ultimate definition of selfishness.

While wanting to know what is bothering the person may start off with you wanting to know what's upsetting them, eventually it manifests into so much more, something dark and ugly if you're not careful.

Concern morphs into something utterly petty.

Into you wanting to find out for your own self-regarding reasons, you make it about personal, turning it around until in the end you're thinking, 'they aren't telling me because they don't trust me.'

I wouldn't do that, but it was still frustrating nonetheless that Fatima wouldn't tell me what was wrong. She had went out with Imogen, however when she returned, it was like a piece of her mind was left somewhere along the roadside of Eugene.

We still hung out, she still let me hold her hand, and she tried to participate in conversations with me, but her mind was occupied, I could tell. So I was giving her space, even though I was still around her. We had come up with a pattern of sorts, going to school together, studying with one or a few of my siblings in the library. She rarely ate with us, but every night, around ten I would bring her a cup of tea, just to spend some time with her. Even if it was just us drinking our tea while listening to music, it was something we did together.

She hadn't asked me not to come or to give her space but I knew she needed it, but Fatima was a strange mix of confusing. Although she was my confusing and it did make sense in a way – to me at least.

Fatima had spent so much time alone, that even when she wanted space, she didn't want to be left completely alone. It wasn't hard to figure out, I was in that same mode at the moment. After speaking with Fatima about Silas, she had opened my eyes to a different truth I hadn't thought of, that I was afraid to even say out loud.

Silas was reckless – someone had tampered with our plane – he didn't want to ask me to come along to be the one to drag down his fun. We had checked the plane a month before he took it out, to him, knowing that every time we took her up, I wanted to check everything, he didn't call me on purpose.

I was the boring careful one; the one that would've came and checked everything before saying we should take it up.

Dad wasn't around and it would be obvious that he wasn't there; we would've been caught. He snuck in there, went up without permission and he didn't run a check. Fatima hadn't said it, but her words implied just enough.

The plane was tampered with, and yes, Silas was reckless but his murder was avoidable – it wasn't that he deserved to die for not being careful. That should never be a punishment because Silas paid for his recklessness with his life, but we – the people he left behind, the ones that loved him – paid a price too.

I had heard her words loud and clear, it hurt and each time I thought it over, the pain felt fresh, not years old. It wasn't my fault that Silas died, that's what Fatima tried to tell me, wanted me to understand. She didn't push me to see it that way, still hadn't. She said her peace and then left it up to me to piece together, I could mourn Silas, be sad, but I didn't kill him. So while she was working through something in her head, I guess I was too as well.

It's not that I couldn't be away from Fatima, but I would rather she wasn't closing in on herself right now before we went on our annual fishing trip for dad's birthday.

Six years ago when the twins were born, just two weeks before his birthday, December 11th, dad just chuckled that it was his early birthday present from mom. "Is this your way of stopping the annual fishing trip?" he joked as he held Simon in his arms. So again, I could be away from Fatima, but now, it was like the timing felt wrong.

With a heavy sigh, I went down the stairs to join the others, my fishing and camping gear already packed on my back, Uncle Trevor, Scotty, Kenneth, and my cousins, the older ones, Toby and Blyne as well as my Grandpa Jonah and brothers waiting in the kitchen Friday night. The only people we were missing was my uncle Danny, my cousin Andy.

It was all us boys, leaving at night, sleeping and fishing half day Saturday returning for dad's birthday on Saturday at night. I rolled my eyes at myself, it would really only be just the night, but still I had become so accustomed to spending my nights with Fatima.

Sitting near the door, was the person I was thinking about, just watching all the excitement around her, understanding I'm sure but still remaining quiet, almost invisible – except to the children. I'm not sure Fatima noticed but she had the kids eating out of her hand, looking at her as though she were some type of god in their eyes.

While I could hear everyone in the kitchen, I was stuck in my place not so subtly watching Fatima, just as the doorbell rang, knocking me from my welcomed trance. Shaking my head, and giving Fatima a large smile I went to the door, opening it and all the warm feelings disappeared as my uncle Danny and the rest of his family stood eager and cold rubbing at their bodies.

It was like I was suddenly standing naked, in the snow, with more snow falling around me, covering me, and ice water running in my veins.

"Well don't just stand there, move aside Samson," Danny admonished, his gear on his back and his arms full with baby Genesis in a carrier.

"Hey thank gosh you guys hadn't left yet-" he continued speaking but as he pushed me aside to enter my eyes went straight to Fatima's, who looked utterly green and pale, her eyes wide, focused on Cynthia. I couldn't even register the look in Fatima's eyes; I had never seen her this way before, her body shaking. And her beautiful green eyes, seemed to be going near black, as her lip straightened completely.

Panicking in my spot, unsure and worried that Fatima would think we invited them here, invited Cynthia here before she was ready, I registered my uncle Danny, "Thought we'd surprise your old self," he joked but my eyes were on Fatima.

Cynthia hadn't been paying attention to Fatima, to the family she was invisible in the corner, but it was me that gave her spot away. Cynthia gazed at me, and then followed my line of sight and there was only one thing that could pull my eyes from Fatima herself. And it was the reaction Cynthia was having at seeing the little girl she abandoned.

I wanted to roll my eyes at the play she put on, the hand up towards her mouth, the loud gasp and cry, as she whispered, "F-Fatima..." and while Cynthia seemed to be filled and overcome with emotions, Fatima on the other hand was a void.

Rushing towards Fatima, as though she were going to embrace her, Cynthia went forward, it was fast, I thought for a moment that Fatima had checked out, was as frozen as a statue. But I was wrong, so wrong, because as soon as Cynthia was in touching distance of Fatima, a few sobs leaving her body, Fatima's hand came up out of nowhere.

Her hand a clenched fist, connected right with Cynthia's face, the force – I'm not even sure – beyond what I thought Fatima was capable of.

The loud crunch and snap the only thing that made me move forward as Fatima's eyes filled with tears and Cynthia stumbled falling backwards. 

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So... that happened...

You guys think Faith should tell Imogen about her?

What's up with Cynthia's reaction?

Anyone see the clue about where Faith was being held? Where exactly Dmitri found her?

Oh and Dmitri is not Faith's father.