same, just that we had been… pushed ?” she said.
“We are the same, but there are differences, too,” I tried to explain. “You look and sound identical to the Melody Rose that I knew, but you claim not to be her. You claim that you have no memories of me or what we once shared together. But I think your mother remembered her other life – her other self. She might not have realised that they were memories – she thought they were ghosts come to haunt her – but it was just the two worlds overlapping. It was the other world seeping into this one through the cracks.”
“Cracks?” Melody asked.
“Haven’t you seen them?” I said, cocking one eyebrow, pointing heavenwards with one finger. There was no way that she hadn’t.
“The cracks that have appeared overnight in the sky?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Something happened which I don’t think should have, and it’s caused those cracks to appear.”
“What happened?” she asked, sitting forward on the sofa.
“I think I was meant to die last night, but someone took my place and it’s changed things – it’s made cracks appear,” I said, trying to figure out in my mind at the very same time I was trying to explain the cracks to Melody.
“Why were you meant to die?” she asked me, a frown creasing her pretty face.
“I had decided to sit and wait for you at a railway station,” I said, wondering if I sounded stupid. “I’d decided not to budge until you showed up, even though danger in the shape of a pack of berserkers was only seconds away.”
“Why were you so convinced I was going to show up at the station?” Melody asked, that frown growing deeper with each passing second.
“Because I had a photograph of me and you together,” I said. “But the photograph hadn’t yet been taken. So I was convinced that whatever might come to pass in this world, we were destined to meet up again so that photograph could be taken.”
“Where is this picture?” Melody said, holding out her hand. “Show it to me.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because it no longer exists, and perhaps it never should have,” I told her. “The man who took my place last night said the picture would lead me into a trap. But he also told me to come and find you.”
“Why?” Melody asked.
“He said you would be waiting for me.” Then with a half-smile, I added, “And in a way, he was right. You were waiting for me. You said yourself that you knew that one day I would come back. Why were you so convinced of that?”
She looked away in the direction of the fire. The flames danced in her eyes, making them shine bright again. “Because I believed you to be a vampire and vampires come back, don’t they?”
Sitting forward in the armchair, I stared at Melody, even though she had looked away from me, and I said, “I think somewhere deep inside, in a box that you’ve tried to keep a lid on, you do remember something.”
“Why would I lie about something like that?” she said, getting up from the sofa and chucking another log onto the fire. A flurry of sparks disappeared up into the chimney.
“Because you’re scared that if you remember too much, then you’ll go mad like your mother did,” I whispered. “Who would want to remember being murdered by their own mother? I don’t blame you for not wanting to remember something like that.”
“Stop it,” she suddenly hissed, her back turned to me as she stood before the fire.
“That’s the real reason you’ve spent your life chasing around after whispers, rumours, and half-truths,” I said, standing up. “You need to know whether you were going mad like your mother, or if the stuff you’ve buried deep inside is real. You’ve not been looking for proof in the existence of winged creatures, but proof that your dreams and memories are more than just that – that they had once been very real. Because if they are real, then you’re not seeing ghosts, hearing voices,
“We are the same, but there are differences, too,” I tried to explain. “You look and sound identical to the Melody Rose that I knew, but you claim not to be her. You claim that you have no memories of me or what we once shared together. But I think your mother remembered her other life – her other self. She might not have realised that they were memories – she thought they were ghosts come to haunt her – but it was just the two worlds overlapping. It was the other world seeping into this one through the cracks.”
“Cracks?” Melody asked.
“Haven’t you seen them?” I said, cocking one eyebrow, pointing heavenwards with one finger. There was no way that she hadn’t.
“The cracks that have appeared overnight in the sky?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Something happened which I don’t think should have, and it’s caused those cracks to appear.”
“What happened?” she asked, sitting forward on the sofa.
“I think I was meant to die last night, but someone took my place and it’s changed things – it’s made cracks appear,” I said, trying to figure out in my mind at the very same time I was trying to explain the cracks to Melody.
“Why were you meant to die?” she asked me, a frown creasing her pretty face.
“I had decided to sit and wait for you at a railway station,” I said, wondering if I sounded stupid. “I’d decided not to budge until you showed up, even though danger in the shape of a pack of berserkers was only seconds away.”
“Why were you so convinced I was going to show up at the station?” Melody asked, that frown growing deeper with each passing second.
“Because I had a photograph of me and you together,” I said. “But the photograph hadn’t yet been taken. So I was convinced that whatever might come to pass in this world, we were destined to meet up again so that photograph could be taken.”
“Where is this picture?” Melody said, holding out her hand. “Show it to me.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because it no longer exists, and perhaps it never should have,” I told her. “The man who took my place last night said the picture would lead me into a trap. But he also told me to come and find you.”
“Why?” Melody asked.
“He said you would be waiting for me.” Then with a half-smile, I added, “And in a way, he was right. You were waiting for me. You said yourself that you knew that one day I would come back. Why were you so convinced of that?”
She looked away in the direction of the fire. The flames danced in her eyes, making them shine bright again. “Because I believed you to be a vampire and vampires come back, don’t they?”
Sitting forward in the armchair, I stared at Melody, even though she had looked away from me, and I said, “I think somewhere deep inside, in a box that you’ve tried to keep a lid on, you do remember something.”
“Why would I lie about something like that?” she said, getting up from the sofa and chucking another log onto the fire. A flurry of sparks disappeared up into the chimney.
“Because you’re scared that if you remember too much, then you’ll go mad like your mother did,” I whispered. “Who would want to remember being murdered by their own mother? I don’t blame you for not wanting to remember something like that.”
“Stop it,” she suddenly hissed, her back turned to me as she stood before the fire.
“That’s the real reason you’ve spent your life chasing around after whispers, rumours, and half-truths,” I said, standing up. “You need to know whether you were going mad like your mother, or if the stuff you’ve buried deep inside is real. You’ve not been looking for proof in the existence of winged creatures, but proof that your dreams and memories are more than just that – that they had once been very real. Because if they are real, then you’re not seeing ghosts, hearing voices,
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