• One

    My last happy memory was lying in Tristan's arms. The smell of his skin-his clothes. His warm smile, soft green eyes and his sandy blond hair. And how could I ever forget how gentle all his features were? Nothing about him was pointed or didn't belong. Everything about him seemed to fit, like God had taken extra time to make him. That was my last happy memory at least.

    The current ones include me being sucked into my own personal hell. Only there wasn't anything personal about it. Somehow I'd been sent to the future and erased from the past. From what I could figure out there had been a story made up about my death, that I had been killed under mysterious circumstances. My sister was distraught and Tristan...poor Tristan. He wouldn't give a statement.

    Naturally at the time, I didn't know those details. I was in the future, stumbling around on the streets like some sort of mad animal. At first I was a little disoriented, I kept thinking-kept willing-all of it to be a dream. Then, after a month or so, I finally came to terms with my situation.

    I'm Annabelle Lyons. It's been a year since I've been banished into this hellish nightmare, and I'm ready to solve my murder.

    x.x.x

    Dark gray storm clouds blocked out the sun. Rain poured down heavily onto the earth below, but it could do nothing to cleanse the city.

    I walked down a street, passing the occasional person. The people whose faces I saw were very dreary looking, dead in a sense, like the life had been sucked from them. I couldn't blame them. This city along with the rest of the nation had been taken over by one woman about ten years ago.

    Vanessa Chenoweth. Anyone would describe her as a harpy in disguise, if they wanted to put it mildly. Of course they only said it privately, lest they provoke one of her guards. But worst of all, she was my sister. Somehow she'd managed to over-throw the last family in power; Tristan's family. No, over-throw was the wrong word to use. More like brain-washed. She'd married into the family and taken over from there. I don't know who she married, and I didn't even want to consider that she might have married Tristan. I didn't want to think of her marrying the man that I loved. Besides, I knew he had brothers. Although how they could've bent to her will was beyond me. But, I guess she had convinced them of her love.

    After that she had taken over other cities, and soon the entire nation. She worked people to the bone, stripped them of their rights and money, everything basically. She wasn't stupid though, she let them live so they could work, but just barely. In some ways I felt sort of guilty. She was my sister and I hadn't done a thing to stop her. Of course I had been missing for the past ten years, apparently that's how far I'd been sent into the future and the world thought I was dead, so there wasn't exactly much I could do. But still....

    It was probably already too late to help them, at any rate. Right now I had to focus on my current mission: infiltrating the police station and gathering the files about my death. They held crucial information about my murder, and I figured that was the best place to start. I had to know the exact details of what had happened.

    I swallowed hard, suddenly very unsure of myself, as the police station came into view. Sure I knew the route I had to take around the back to get in, and I knew where the files were, but it seemed so easy in my head. Not now as I stood like an idiot infront of the doors.

    “Stop being a coward!" A voice screamed inside my head.

    “But I've never committed a theft before!" A smaller voice argued in a shrill voice.

    "Maybe it's not too late to see a therapist." I muttered. Someone coughed and I looked up. A well-built man stood infront of me wearing a police uniform. He had stunning green eyes and dark brown hair.

    "May I help you ma'am?" He asked smoothly, although I was sure he was freaked out by me.

    "Oh, I-I was just wondering if I should get some therapy." I stammered. Oh yeah, if I didn't scream lunatic earlier, I definitely did now. I should have just bought a nice neon sign saying so.

    "At a police station?" The man asked almost bewildered.

    "Eh, there's a reason why I'm looking for a therapist." I laughed nervously, hoping he really wouldn't send me to one.

    "Well, I'm sure if you haven’t caused any riots your problem isn't that bad. At any rate, no loitering." He said gruffly.

    My eyes widened. "Oh-Oh yes, yes, sorry officer. It won't happen again!" I apologized quickly before stepping away.

    "I'll let it slide, but next time I'll have to report you to the chief!" He warned. I turned and walked briskly up the street, side stepping into the nearest alley.

    "Darn," I breathed, "so much for that plan." Now it was going to be even harder to even get near to the station. I slapped myself. "No, it's not impossible." Looking up I spotted a fire escape. Perhaps...

    I climbed up the latter, running up the stairs and onto the roof. Yes, this would be a stretch, but it was doable. I backed up, taking a running leap onto the next roof. One more roof top and I would be on the police station. I backed up again, falling a bit short when I jumped. But I had caught myself on the gutter. I gasped, thrashing wildly with my feet for any sort of foot hold. My sneakers scraped against the wall, threatening to give away my presence should anyone hear.

    Finally I was able to haul myself onto the roof, where I collapsed in exhaustion. I was breathing heavily as I walked over to a window. Without much thought, I kicked it in, jumping through, and landing with a loud thump. I was panting now, dragging myself under a desk.

    Heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway on the other side of the wall. The door flew open and a man stepped in. He examined the broken glass to find traces of blue jeans. I looked at my leg. A deep gash wound ran down its side.

    "Darn it!" I breathed, covering my mouth as I realized my mistake too late. Okay, it was already too late when I decided to kick in the glass and just drop in, but this was probably the third most stupid thing I had done in just thirty minutes. A new record. I thought grimly.

    The man's bright green eyes focused on me. "You," he murmured. Shuffling awkwardly, he pulled me out, cradling me against his chest. I saw immediate fear in his eyes. I remember thinking how strange it was for him to care.

    "Give me the murder files for Annabelle Lyons." I ordered pulling away from him. He stiffened and let me push myself away. His expression was suddenly hard.

    "Why do you need them?" He demanded his voice angry.

    "I'm going to solve it."

    "It's a decade old."

    "I can still try." I snapped. He stared at me, probably wondering why I would go through so much trouble.

    "I don't want you to. That case got my cousin, Tristan, killed!" The man growled.

    "Lance?" A woman called.

    "Martha," he breathed, then glanced at me. Lance sprang up and hurried out the door.

    "L-Lance?" I murmured. Suddenly I remembered sitting in a garden with Tristan when we were younger. Another boy came to play with us. He looked just like Tristan, only with much darker hair. It-It couldn't be...

    I heard his voice just outside the door. "It was nothing, just some bird."

    "I don't think a bird could have made such a racket." The woman, apparently named Martha, said.

    "It's fine, promise!" Lance said quickly. Apparently Martha had tried to get in. There was a long silence, and I tried to control my breathing so I wouldn't give anything away.

    "You're hiding something, Lance." No response. "Is it your girlfriend?"

    "Martha!"

    "Well, next time she wants to see you, tell her that she'll have to come in the old fashion way; walking through the front door!" I could hear the clicking of heals against tile, then in the opposite direction Lance walked back into the room.

    "Lance," I whispered my throat dry.

    "Next time you want to sneak into a police station, figure out a more elaborate plan Annabelle!" He sighed in exasperation. I know I should have questioned why he knew who I was, but it wasn't important to me at the time. I could barely breathe.

    "Lance, is it true?" I choked out. "Is Tristan...Is he really..."

    "Dead?" He finished; I winced. Lance looked away. "Yes, Annabelle, he died; went insane a year or so after your 'death.' I was with him as he spoke his last words. Tristan kept saying how he knew you were out there, he kept insisting that you were alive."

    I tried to swallow, but I couldn't. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't blink them away. Tristan, my Tristan, was dead.

    "Hey now, don't do that." Lance said, noticing the tears starting to fall down my cheeks. "Come on, you were the one who abandoned him and now you decide to show up?"

    "I did no such thing!" I cried.

    "Easy now, you don't want Martha to call for back up now, do you?" Lance's eyes flicked to the door. He rushed over to it, and he shut it. I sat up and began to sob.

    "I don't care if Martha does anything!"

    "Quiet down!"

    "No! You're blaming me when it's not even my fault!" I wailed.

    "Not your fault?" Lance's voice rose, I knew I had made him angry now, but I didn't care. "You disappeared! You left him to go where-ever the hell you've been for the last ten years!"

    I glared at him, fighting back tears as I tried to think of how to explain to him that I was sent to the future, when there was a knock on the door.

    "Lance, I don't know what you're doing in there, but keep it down! Argue with your girl in your own home!" Martha's voice was muffled behind the door, but she sounded pretty serious. Lance suddenly opened a file cabinet, yanked out a folder, and picked me up roughly. He slung me over his back and opened the door. Martha gasped at the sight of my injured leg.

    "She got it when she fell through. Can you clean the room up?" Lance asked her. The poor elderly woman stared at me, bewildered, with large brown eyes. Her lips trembled. "Please Martha?" She glanced at him.

    "Of all the things..." she muttered stepping into the room.”You'd better be grateful for this, Lance."

    "Don't worry, I am forever grateful, and in your debt."

    "You'd better believe it young man!" Martha griped. Lance turned, only to pause and glance back.

    "Oh, and Martha," she looked back at him, "it's probably best that you forget this ever happened. For your own sake."

    She nodded, seeming to understand. "Good-bye Lance, since I don't suppose I'll be seeing you around any time soon."

    Lance gazed at her, his eyes suddenly full of sadness as well as sorrow. "No, Martha, I suppose you won't." With that, he turned, and we exited out the back doors of the building.

    x.x.x

    I itched at the sterile bandages around my leg. I thought they were a bit tight, but Lance wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say.

    “The foul whack-job,” I muttered.
    “Hey, now, this ‘foul whack job’ just spared you time in prison and that’s how you repay him? By calling him names when you think he can’t hear you?” Lance asked entering the room and sitting beside me on the bed.

    “Yes,” I snapped. “I might as well be in prison!”
    “You are such a drama queen. I don’t know what Tristan saw in you!” Lance growled tending to the rest of my minor scrapes and cuts. I pulled away, another round of tears forming in my eyes. “Oh, don’t start that again!” He moaned.

    “You say that when you don’t even know what happened.” I said swallowing my anger, and blinking hard.

    “All I need to know is that you disappeared for ten years, drove my cousin to his death, and you just now show up. That’s my summary of events so far.”

    “You don’t even know the half of it.” I growled.

    “Oh I don’t? Then why don’t you explain where you’ve been for the past ten years!” I could hear the emotion in his voice. I sighed giving him the longest explanation with every single detail about what I knew. Once I had finished, he stared blankly at the cut he was cleaning.

    “You’re insane. How could you possibly think I would—”

    “I know it’s a stretch, but it’s a fact okay? I wouldn’t just leave Tristan like that.” I said.

    “Oh really, and how would I know that?”

    “Because I loved him!” I snapped furiously. Lance froze. “I still love him.” I murmured, becoming a bit lost in my memories. Suddenly I felt tears running down my cheeks and I blinked. “I want to see his grave tomorrow.”

    I don’t know what had convinced him, but Lance didn’t argue at my request. His movements became stiff, like he didn’t want to be touching me anymore. I guess I could understand that. Maybe he still didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Suddenly I remembered my mission.

    “Lance?”

    “What?” His voice was still hard, but there was too much emotion in it to be very convincing.

    “What happened in the ten years that I’ve been gone?” He looked up, now I could see his eyes watering, and that hurt. Those eyes, they were so much like Tristan’s, and yet they weren’t. But, I wanted them to be.

    “A lot of bad things, Annabelle, and they all started the morning right after you disappeared.”