This is the second installment for the Super fast Short Contest. I was in group one, and had to utilize a quote and four pictures in the story. I came up with this fun beaut of 3800 words. I hope you enjoy everyone of them. Happy reading. 

Memory

(c) SP Parish 2013

Run for your life… 

…evil.

The leper’s bell…

Artemis jolted awake, pushing heavy chunks of hair the color of corn silk from her face with both hands.

…money is evil, I tell you.

In the room, sun bounced off the polished walls, highlighting the veins of metamorphosized carbon in the vast slabs of marble. It assaulted her eyes. Artemis tried in vain to blink it into submission while simultaneously shaking away the oddly striking remnants of her dreams.

What had… money and evil? She thought, attempting to piece together her disjointed flashes of memory. Was it a..? No. She shook her head against the thought. It had been years since she had dreamt dreams of what was to come.

Artemis jerked back, Where did that thought come from? She had never had dreams of the future?

Had she?

No, an inner voice answered, Not since Langdon walked into your life.

The thought was cut off as the rich, tangy scent of coffee reached her nose. Speaking of Langdon…

Artemis slung her legs over the edge of her bed and slid down, hitting the pristine floors with a light thud. Grabbing her robe, she slung it over her shoulders and headed towards the kitchen. There was coffee to be had and a man to tell good morning—and not necessarily in that order.

Artemis began the curb of the spiraling staircase, ignoring the walls of grandiose art around her. When she had first come to live here with Langdon, Artemis could get lost in the house—in her art, sea of sculptures, roses, and breathtaking architecture; or quite literally lost in its sheer size. But the years she had spent here had made her immune to the things of the house.

Well, not one thing.

Langdon.

He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding two steaming mugs—one of which was significantly larger than the other.

Artemis’ face beamed as she caught his gaze, and Langdon returned the gesture. It amazed Artemis that after all these months, he could still make her insides light with butterflies the same as the first day she laid eyes on him. Thick, dark hair matched his shining eyes, which towered above her already slight frame. Once at the bottom of the steps, Artemis slid her arms around his broad shoulders, tiptoeing to reach his lips with her own. Langdon mercifully met her halfway. “Hello,” he said, answering her with another kiss.

Artemis responded in kind, “Good morning,” she replied before relieving him of her coffee.

“Good afternoon,” he corrected. Artemis shrugged before heading off in the direction of the kitchen. With Langdon, where there was coffee, there was also breakfast. For Artemis, the coffee would do just fine, but her love insisted she eat something, and for that reason, she complied.

Artemis sat at the table set for two by the unseen help. That was how Langdon liked it. Artemis did not mind.

“Did you sleep well?” Langdon asked as he joined her at the table.

Artemis picked up her fork, “I did.” She took a small bite and fought the urge to moan against the delicious taste. “We were out late,” she added.

Langdon nodded, shaking out the paper, and folding it alongside his plate. “But it was wonderful, was it not?” Artemis smirked in agreement. It had been grand. Langdon was a consultant for all the grand people of the State. His work required him to attend the highest of society functions, which meant Artemis had spent much of the last few years on his arm. She did not mind. Langdon was right in his observation. It was wonderful. He continued, “You will need to be ready shortly.”

Artemis paused around her eggs, “Excuse me?”

Langdon’s wide brows met over his aristocratic nose, “The Whitfield Masquerade, it is tonight.” He put down his paper, “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

She had forgotten. But there was no reason to let Langdon know that, “No, of course not,” Artemis replied quickly. She loved this man across from her, who had given her so much. But where much was given, much was expected in return. Langdon had very high expectations of the people in his life. Artemis was no exception. “Just, what time is the car arriving?”

Langdon narrowed his eyes across at her before turning his watch, “Six sharp. That gives you just over three hours to be ready and in the foyer. We will be picking up Mr. Haddock and his wife on the way.”

Artemis nodded, and finished her eggs, washing them down with the last of her coffee. Mr. Haddock, she groaned in her mind. The day was getting better by the minute. “In that case, I had better get started then.” She stood, adjusting her robe over her slender shoulder. “What is the theme again?”

Langdon frowned—he had such sharp edges. That was why he kept Artemis around, he told her, to soften them out. However, sometimes it was hard to dull the edges without getting cut herself. Still, she did not know if he was frowning at the theme, or her forgetfulness. “The Industrial Revolution,” he answered disgustedly. The theme it was then, “Barbaric if you ask me.”

Instead of launching into a debate about the pros and cons of steam, electricity, and beyond, Artemis simply agreed before dismissing herself to her powder room. As if she were a mind reader, her maid, Lucinda, had already drawn Artemis a steaming bath. When she returned to her room, her costume would be waiting on her bed. She might have forgotten, but Lucinda had not. Lucinda was always catching Artemis when her mind had gaps; moments like today when she was equally haunted by her nagging dream and the prospect of wooing Langdon’s socialite friends in a matter of hours.

As she moved into her room and into the flurry of hands of Lucinda’s girls, Artemis’ thoughts veered back to her dream. It had seemed so real—the man in his odd clothing, the thrill of plummeting to the earth only to wake up where everybody knew her name. The odd place with its steaming pipes, honking horns, crowded streets and friendly places. The place where she felt at home.

What was it he said, Artemis thought as they prepped her hair and make-up. Why was she having so much difficulty piecing it all together? Just as she would reach for a thought, it would be gone—darted off to the periphery, just out of her reach.

Artemis was growing increasingly frustrated when Lucinda finished securing her heel, placing her foot on the floor.

“Alright, Arty,” Lucinda started. Artemis looked down at the old woman kneeling beside her. She was the only one who called her that, and always outside of Langdon’s earshot. It was their little secret. “You’re all done. Mr. Langdon will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Lucinda,” Artemis said, adding on a smile for the woman’s sake, and stood.

“Watch it, now,” Lucinda said as she grabbed her elbow. “This one’s a bit heavier than the others you’ve worn.”

That was an understatement. “And a bit more.” Artemis added, looking at herself for the first time. From head to toe, she was decked in an intricate pattern of platinum. The weave braided in and out along her body, elongating her stunted frame that her five-inch heels already heightened. The material looked stiff, but gave when Artemis moved. It was beautiful. Eye-catching. Artemis could expect attention tonight. Her smoky eyes and up do added to the severity of the costume.

Lucinda pressed a mask into her hand, “You look lovely, Arty. No go,” she said giving Artemis a push towards the door. “You don’t want to leave Mr. Langdon waiting.”

“Thank you, Lucinda. You have outdone yourself this time.” Artemis replied. Lucinda’s eyes filled with tears when she slung her stout arms around Artemis’ waist. Artemis stumbled, surprised.

“You just have a great time tonight, lovie.” Lucinda said.

Artemis patted her on the back, awkwardly. What was with the old maid tonight? She had never acted so informal in all her life. “I will try, Lucinda. Thank you.”

With Lucinda let go, nodded once, and turned in the opposite direction, leaving a stunned Artemis to find her way to the foyer without breaking her neck in these ridiculous shoes.

“Ah,” Langdon said as Artemis crossed into the room. He slid a hand across her hips, placing a chaste kiss on her temple as to not undo any of Lucinda’s hard work. At least that was why Artemis thought he was so chaste. She found the real reason for it when she turned around. They were not alone. “You remember Mr. Haddock, and his wife Anne?”

Artemis nodded once, holding out her hand in the Mr. Haddock direction. Haddock took it, engulfing it with his own bony, cold fingers. “Charmed,” she answered. “I thought we would be picking you up, Mr. Haddock. What a surprise to see you here.”

The man in question pursed his lips, “Anne and I decided it was a nice night for a stroll, so we thought it would not bee terribly prudent to meet you here.” He looked to Langdon over his too-tight chocolate brown tie. Artemis loved the color brown—it was the color of coffee, of chocolate, of home—there was that thought again. Artemis shook it away. On Mr. Haddock, however, the color only served to wash out his already pale features. It made him look like a sickly tree whose wife had dressed to match.

“Of course not,” Langdon answered, pulling Artemis from her revelry. He turned his watch—he was a creature of habit, of course. Habit and obsession to details such as his watch matching his belt, which matched his shoes, that contrasted nicely with the smoky grey of his suit coat, which just so happened to contrast nicely with all of Artemis. “Since we do not have to detour a route, we could continue on to the Whitfield’s by foot if you so wish. We have the time.”

“That would be splendid,” Mr. Haddock replied.

“Of course, the driver will pick us up for the ride home?” He looked over his shoulder at the driver in question who nodded. “Then it is settled, let’s be on our way, then.”

Langdon looped Artemis’ arm through his own and began out the door. Artemis took careful steps, becoming accustomed to the high shoes on her feet, careful not to miss a step and embarrass Langdon in front of his associates. Mr. Haddock and Langdon began to talk business as soon as they were outside the door. Oh, not in so many words, Artemis knew, but in that round about way rich people spoke of things that were impolite to discuss in the first place. Artemis ignored them for the most part, instead taking in the scenery around her. It was mid-Autumn, and the leaves of the trees were performing their grand finale before giving in to the cold of the winter months. The result was breathtaking—the array of colors brushed the top of the privacy walls, quietly singing to them as they passed in the warm breeze. Artemis held her face up, soaking it all in and catching the last rays of the sun disappear over the edge of the city.

The gaslights popped on above their heads as they made their way to the Whitfield mansion. Artemis was considering the pallet of colors around her when Anne disrupted her peaceful train of thought, “Ugh,” she sighed, nodding her head to the corner.

Artemis’ eye followed Anne’s to a man on the side street who was the brunt of her disgust.

“The State should clean the streets again, if I say so myself,” Anne stated as they approached his path. He was an elderly man, with a grey wiry beard the hung, unkempt, down to his chest. Despite the changing seasons, he was wearing only denim shorts—cut off inches above his thing, wrinkly knees, with a red and grey plaid dinner jacket, topped with the silliest black top hat Artemis had ever laid eyes on.

As she took it all in, Artemis noticed that on his bare legs were markings of some sort. Tribal dots and swirls decorated his limbs from his toes, disappearing under the frays of denim at his thighs. The man was holding a cup out to passerbys, keeping his eyes downcast, pleading for the generosity of the State’s richest street of citizens.

“Disgusting,” Anne claimed, when Langdon and Mr. Haddock first spotted the man.

Mr. Haddock’s eyes widened, then looking at the cup in the old man’s hands, “You know,” he said, dropping a worthless copper into the mug, “Money is the root of all evil,” he looked back to Langdon, “Or so they say.”

The two men laughed and the old man slanted his eyes towards them. “Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil,” he said out of the earshot of Mr. Haddock. Then looking directly at Artemis, he added, “That sentence is the leper’s bell of an approaching looter. Right Arty?” 

Run for your life…

…evil.

The leper’s bell…

Artemis stopped.

But the man continued on as if nothing had happened, shaking his mug in the direction of the street, eyes once again towards the ground. Anne grabbed her elbow, “Come along, Artemis. We are almost there.”

Artemis barely heard her through her thoughts. Cold beads of sweat popped up on her forehead.

Run for your life from any man…

They turned the corner at the soaring gate of the Whitfield estate, crowded with women and men dressed in various revolution fashion. Langdon greeted a couple as they approached the house. Artemis felt her cheeks flush.

…who tells you that money is evil.

They ascended the stairs, Langdon helped Artemis out of her jacket. Her heart moved into her throat, cutting off her air supply.

That sentence is the leper’s bell…

Artemis fought to catch her breath. She felt like she was dying.

Langdon noticed her for the first time, “Artemis, are you alright?”

…of an approaching looter.

He grabbed her elbows, putting his face in front of hers. His perfect face. “Artemis?”

Right, Arty?

It was too much, “I need the powder room,” Artemis gasped out in a single breath, cutting Langdon off with a turn. It was early, and no one was in here. Just as well. Artemis collapsed into a chair, widened her knees, and stuck her head between them.

The dream.

Misses Lucinda’s hug.

The man and his tattoos. Langdon and his all too perfect face.

Arty.

Artemis fought for breath as panic overtook her. She was dying. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as though her chest was about to explode as she fought with her mind’s unleashing of thoughts.

Plummeting. The pipes. The steam. The colors.

Home.

The last though came with a hiccup for breath when a cool hand touched the back of her neck, and leather shoes appeared between her silver shoes. “Breathe, Artemis. Come on.” the deep voice implored. She looked up to see a man dressed in a grey and brown striped suit. His eyes were so brown, they were almost black, and they were her way back to the surface.

“Come on, now.” He coached, “In,” he sucked a controlled breath in through impossibly gleaming teeth. Artemis struggled to follow. “And out. Good girl, now in.”

Artemis let herself be brought to the land of the stable by a stranger in the ladies’ powder room.

“Thank you—“ Artemis started, as she picked up a flute of water, “Mister…”

“Clavin,” he supplied with an easy smile. “Peck Clavin, at your service, Madame.” He gave a little bow in her direction. Artemis laughed.

“I supposed you just go around rescuing women in distress at Masquerades, Mr. Clavin?”

“Please, call me Peck.” He stood, and reached out his hand.

His sleeve rose, and underneath, on the sun kissed skin of his wrist, was a pale blue dot.

Artemis felt her eyes widen, “You,” she started, then stood, knocking back her chair.

Peck reached out, “It is not what you think,” he said, stepping between Artemis and the exit of the powder room.

Artemis looked at him, panic on the rise, “Oh no? Just that a mysterious man has me trapped in here, and has the same markings of a beggar who just happened to know my name?” Her panic turned to anger. So this was what courage felt like—uncontrollable suppressing feelings turned combustible, into something she could use. She put her hands on her hips, “The personal name by which only one person calls me?”

As Artemis’ voice rose, so did Peck’s hands, “Shhh. Okay, okay,” he said, eyes darting back behind him to the door. “This was not the way it was supposed to go, but when I saw you panic, and his hands all over you…”

“The way what was supposed to go?” Artemis asked, baffled and angry. “Are you here to kidnap me?”

Peck’s laugh startled Artemis. “Um, no,” he said.

“Then what?”

“I’m here to rescue you.”

Artemis’ head jerked back, “Rescue me? What in…” She pointed to herself. “Me? Are you sure? Artemis Vanderburg, mistress and all-together useless arm candy of the illustrious Langdon Crowde II? What do you want with me?”

Peck’s face reddened, “You, all-together useless arm candy and mistress of that… that man?”

“Yes, what of it?” Artemis asked.

Peck stepped up to her, not quite as tall as Langdon, but Artemis had to look up to meet his eyes. He grabbed her shoulders, “What are you doing? Unhand me.”

“You, dear Artemis, are Princess Artemis of Kinwar, the Provider to the Poor, Feller of the Strong, Prime Seer, beloved second in line to the throne, affectionately known to all your subjects as Arty.”

Something sharp prodded at Artemis’ mind. It was too much. What Peck said couldn’t be true.

Or could it?

“I don’t…” Artemis cut herself off. She was about to say understand, but it didn’t feel quite right. So instead she said, “Remember.”

Dropping his hands, Peck shook his head. “Of course you don’t. Listen, there’s no time to explain.” He handed her a bag. “We need to get you out of here before they come for you.”

Without pause, Artemis took the bag from Peck. Inside it were less flashy clothes than the ones she currently wore, and a pair of more sensible shoes. Definitely more sensible. Without really knowing why, Artemis began to change, “Explain.”

The corner of Peck’s mouth tipped in amusement. “Two years ago, you came topside for recon. You said only you could do it, and insisted no one accompany you.” His tone of voice let Artemis know how he felt about that. “We gave you a month. When you didn’t come back, we sent out the search parties.”

Artemis’ mind was like a cloudy pond. a cloudy, stagnant pond. With gnats. “It took you a month to send a search party after your princess?” She asked as she slif into the soft leather tunic Peck had supplied her with. She couldn’t remember ever wearing anything so pedestrian, yet it felt right. She shrugged into it and wasn’t surprised to see that it fit perfectly.

Peck huffed, “You really don’t remember.”

Artemis gave him a slanted look as she slid into her leggings and moved on to her shoes. Peck pretended not to notice. “What took you so long?” she asked, “If this is really all true. I still don’t believe that it is.”

Peck crossed his arms, “Believe what you want, but they were ready for you. As far as we can discern, as soon as you came topside, they launched their plan—wiping your memories, and setting up a life that appeals to you.” He looked around distastefully, “Or that they thought would appeal to you.”

Artemis thought of everything she had experienced in the past years: the parties, the social outings, but most of all, the weightlessness of it all. She remembered falling into it peacefully, albeit a bit confused in the beginning. She also remembered when the easy life of windswept love and no responsibility began to chafe—about the time Langdon started packing her calendar full: one event after another, after another.

Peck continued, “They even made him to your specifications.” He nodded his head back towards the main room of the party.

Artemis looked up from tying her shoe—a fitted, lace-up brown boot. It was a no-nonsense boot. She appreciated that. “You mean Langdon?”

Peck nodded, “They created him to your specifications. Everything the princess could ever want in one pretty, polished package.”

Artemis felt her stomach flip with each of Peck’s words. Truth breaking down the retaining walls blocking her memories in leaps and bounds. She gasped as his words hot their target, “Pipes,” she said, pulling her pants leg down and looking up at Peck who reached down to help her up. “Steam, brown streets and,” she searched for the word, “eclectic people?”

Peck nodded, full blown smile lighting up his handsome face. “It’s home, Arty, and  I’m here to take you back there.”

Artemis swallowed, “Now what?”

Peck smiled again, a mischievous spark lit his eye. “We ride.”

“Peck, what the..?”

Artemis stared up at the red monstrosity before her. Peck had brought her to the abandoned park, just out of the eyesight of the Whitfield mansion where the masquerade was still underway.

 Peck grabbed the rusted railing of the booth, swinging himself up into the operator’s chair. “It’s our ride, Arty.” He flashed her the same mischievous grin. Artemis was beginning to think it was a trademark look for the lighthearted gentleman from down under. Under where, though? Artemis still wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was this strange-yet-familiar man was about to talk her into riding a dilapidated roller coaster.

Artemis shook her head as Peck pulled with all his weight on a lever that started the rickety mechanisms of the beloved adrenaline ride from the histories of old. “There is no way I’m getting on that,” she responded.

Peck looked at her doubtfully, “It was your idea, Arty.”

Artemis was aghast. “What?” But Peck was dragging her up the ramp. Before Artemis knew it, he had landed her in the third seat from the front, and closed the safety bar over her shoulders. Pieces of the padding fell off into her lap.

She startled as the thing began to move.

Peck jumped in beside her. The clang-clang-clang of the coaster’s ascent shot nervous butterflies through her stomach. But then, there was something else.

Excitement?

She must be out of her mind, and she told Peck so as they crested the peak. He laughed as he reached out for her hand, “No, Arty—you’re about to get it back.”

Artemis screamed as the ground came rushing up towards them, expecting the track to curve up at any moment.

Some half a minute later, the carts squeaked and squealed their way back around to their starting point, stopping with a small puft of dust.

Passengers long gone.