The Mafia Contract Series

WINTER

It’s as if I’m waking from the deepest dream. My mind floats in and out of consciousness and my limbs are heavy and ache. It’s difficult to make out shapes, and the light hurts my eyes if I open them.

I hear voices, but they could be outside. I’m not sure where I am even. Am I still dreaming? I must be because like most dreams, nothing is making sense.

Am I floating above my body? Perhaps I am because something doesn’t seem right.

I open my mouth to call someone, but I don’t know their names. While I think about it, I don’t even remember my name. Yes, it’s a dream. I’ll wake up and everything will be fine.

Once again, sleep takes me away from the scary place, but the next time I wake I’m still here. Is this a recurring dream? It must be, so I run with it. I have no control anyway, an emotion that hits me more than anything.

I have no control.

It bounces around my mind like an echo, telling me that wherever I am, it’s because somebody told me to be here. I can’t think for myself. That voice in my head is telling me not to make a fuss. You have no say in how you live your life. It’s in somebody else’s hands.

As my eyes flicker, I make out shapes all around me. Then I register two black shapes that are different to the rest.

I hear voices, deep, angry, hopeful voices, that appear to be shouting. They are loud, urgent and firm. ‘Listen to them’, my inner voice says. ‘Do what they say at all times’.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

I struggle to open my eyes and as I do, the shapes come into focus, and I’m alarmed to find I can’t move. Something is pinning me down and my first reaction is to scream, but nothing comes out. A silent scream. Is this part of the dream?

A rough hand strokes my face, and a husky voice whispers, “It’s Alessandro, baby, you’re safe now.”

Another voice interrupts, “It’s Angelo, talk to me.”

I don’t understand them. Who are they?

The noise increases and the shapes leave, but they are replaced by different ones, all calling out with an urgency that scares me a little.

I am touched, somebody is touching me, and I flinch as if it burns. My heart is thumping, I’m in danger, I must run. They want to hurt me.

I make to move, and somebody holds me down. I try to fight, but then they float away again on a cloud, leaving me back in blissful solitude.

It seems like days but could be seconds when I visit that place again. They’re here, controlling me, making me do what they want. I’m a prisoner, I must escape. I can’t think of anything else and as I struggle to open my eyes, I’m aware that I’m crying. I don’t cry, I can’t cry. Why am I crying?

Once again, I am held down on either side and I try to snatch my hands away from the strong ones holding me.

“Stop fighting. You’re safe now.” The deep voice to my right sounds angry.

“Please baby, you’re safe. Nothing will hurt you.”

The voice to my left says.

“Let me go.” Somehow my voice quivers on the edge of the conversation and it doesn’t sound like me. Then again, how do I know what I sound like because who am I, anyway?

Suddenly, my hands are released, and I feel victorious. I’m free. I’m allowed to leave.

A huge smile breaks out across my face and then I detect urgent whispers and strange sounds-machines, I’m guessing. What is this place?

Then another voice floats out of the fog. A kind, gentle voice, full of compassion. “My name is Doctor Carmichael. You’re in the hospital.”

“Am I sick?” My voice quivers with uncertainty, almost as if I forgot I had one.

“We don’t know. We need you to wake up so we can assess you.”

“I’m awake.” If I could, I’d roll my eyes because can’t he see that? We’re having a conversation, aren’t we?

The silence calms me and gives me the courage to open my eyes a little. Have they gone? Am I alone again? It’s safer that way.

The room swims into focus, and I see a concerned pair of eyes staring into mine. He seems kind. I like that. He makes me feel safe, so I smile shyly.

“Do you remember your name?” He asks a dumb question that makes me laugh. “Of course.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s…”

I stop because what the fuck is my name?

“It’s…” I search for it in my memory, but it’s gone. Where the fuck is my memory? There’s nothing there.

‘It’s…” The tears roll down my face and the doctor looks to someone on my right and says quickly, “Tell her your name, it may trigger the memory.”

I look to my right and the face staring back at me scares me a little. It’s a man. A dark-haired man with the blackest eyes. He looks worried, angry, and powerful. He scares me a little.

“I’m Angelo, your brother. Your twin brother.”

He seems upset about that and I shake my head. “I’d remember if I had a brother. You must be mistaking me for somebody else.”

I try to ignore the pain in his eyes because I feel responsible for putting it there. He doesn’t deserve pain. I don’t either, but something is telling me I have a lot of pain in my life.

He looks to the person on my left and I swing my gaze to take a look and my heart skips a beat because this man is terrifying.

“I’m Alessandro, your…” He hesitates and then says slightly huskily, “Your friend.”

“My friend.”

I roll the word around my mind, hoping it connects with something. Do I have friends? I’m not sure, and the doctor says eagerly, “Do you remember anything at all?”

“No.” I hang my head because I don’t. A lone tear escapes, which somehow frightens me. I can’t cry, please don’t cry.

I can sense the disappointment in the room and close my eyes, waiting to be punished. Why am I waiting to be punished?

The doctor sighs and nods toward the door and the two men leave, even though I can tell it’s the last thing they want to do.

As the door closes behind them, the doctor sits on the bed and takes my hand in his.

“You were involved in an accident where you hit your head. Can you remember anything at all about that?”

“No.” I’m so stupid. I’ve let them all down. They will punish me.

The doctor sighs. “Your name is Winter Delauren, previously Sontauro. One of the men outside is your twin brother, Angelo.”

None of this makes sense and I say miserably, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

He nods and smiles kindly. “It’s fine. Just get some rest and try not to think about it. Your memory will return, I’m sure. Blows to the head can trigger memory loss. It’s probable it’s short term and so enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”

He winks and heads to the door and I say in a whisper, “Am I in trouble?”

He looks surprised. “No, why?”

“You mean you won’t punish me.”

Now he just looks uncomfortable. “Of course not. Like your friend said, you’re safe here.”

“My friend. Alessandro.”

He nods. I’m strangely comforted that I have a friend at least and I sigh and close my eyes, hearing the click of the door on his way out. I have a brother and a friend but why does it feel as if something important is missing?