“Gimme Shelter. That song.” Abigail paused, running her hands through her hair. “Terra, my parents were killed during Katrina. My mother was singing that song to us as we huddled on the roof of our house. I watched waters drag them away from me, my mother screaming my name as her hands reached out for me. All I can remember of her is that song and the fear in her eyes not for herself, but for her five-year-old daughter. She stuffed the pocket watch in my backpack. She told me it was a family heirloom. I have to get that watch back from the pawn shop.” Abigail paused. “My adopted parents never told me.” She rubbed her arm, scratching at her tattoo and the she knelt down and picked me up, cradling me. I rubbed my head softly against her hand, purring. I felt her 5-year-old child crying. “I can see their faces, Terra. It’s their voices in my head.”
Bryson appeared in the alley. “Abigail, what’s wrong?”
Abigail hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I'm sorry, Bryson, that song brought back some bad memories and I kind of freaked out.”
“I knew I should have played the Partridge Family instead.” Bryson laughed. Abigail smiled through her tears. “Are you hungry? How do you feel about Chinese?”
Abigail looked up into his eyes and nodded her head. They walked down the narrow cobblestone sidewalk to the Noodle Shop. It was unusually warm for an October day. Most of the patio tables were filled. Bryson whispered something to the young hipster waiter who then led them to a corner table overlooking the town square. I jumped up onto a chair next to Abigail against the wall hidden from view from the other customers. Bryson glanced down at me and smiled. He had not asked Abigail once, ‘what’s with the cat?’ His watcher’s intuition told him I was watching Abigail and that was enough for him to accept me.
After they poured the tea, Abigail asked, “ So, were you born here?”
Bryson peered over the menu at her. “Actually I was born in Fletcher. It’s about 15 minutes south of here. My family breeds horses.”
Abigail smiled. “Horses, that’s nice.”
The hipster waiter came over and took their order. He stared at me once and then at Bryson before walking away. A short while later, he returned with shumai dumplings stuffed with shrimp and chicken. Bryson grabbed his chopsticks, picked up the dumpling and dunked it in the sauce. Abigail fumbled with her sticks, dropping her dumpling several times. She looked up in frustration. Bryson smiled, lifted a dumpling up with his stick, dipped it and held it up for her. She took a bite and smiled. “It takes some time to get used to these things.”
Abigail picked up a fork and stabbed another dumpling. “How’d you find me in the maze?”
“What’s that?” he asked, finishing his third dumpling.
“The maze, you just showed up.”
“I was walking past and I heard screams.”
I could tell Abigail didn’t quite believe his answer. The festival was noisy. It would be very hard to hear any sounds behind hundreds of bales of hay. Lionel knew he was a watcher and that he had a purpose. It was in his bloodline but Bryson was very young. I could tell he didn’t quite understand what drew him to Abigail besides the fact she was a beautiful young girl.
Bryson sipped his tea. “I don’t know anything about you, Abigail.”
“Not much to tell. I’m from Chicago. At least that’s where my adoptive parents raised me.”
“What are you doing in Asheville?”
Abigail put her fork down. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know, Bryson.”
“There’s a band playing at the Orange Peel tonight. Friends of mine are roadies. If you think you might want to hang out, it’s all ages.”
Abigail smiled. “Yeah, I could use some normal in my life right now. That’d be cool.”
“How about I meet you outside at 9?” Bryson smiled back.
“Cool. See you then.”
The waiter brought the check. Bryson grabbed it quickly. “It’s on me.”
As they spoke, I looked over Bryson’s shoulder to the young woman sitting on the sidewalk bench in front of the tiny restaurant. She appeared out of place amongst the other young people walking up and down Pack Square dressed in tattered jeans and cardigan sweaters. She pulled a pocket watch from her frock, clicked it open as though to show me the time. Then she turned her head. I could see that half her face was burned away. The fur on my back stood up.
Transfixation
I stood outside the Orange Peel with Abigail who was shivering in the late fall evening air. The line grew longer as the hour grew later. There was no sign of Bryson. Abigail checked her phone. No message. She shook her leg impatiently, twisting her head left and right, standing on her tiptoes to look over the crowd. I meandered through her legs to calm her. Patience was not her virtue. After an hour or so, the line disappeared into the building. We could hear the opening band. Abigail leaned against the brick wall. “I don’t understand, Terra, this was his idea. Why would he blow me off?”
I did not think for a moment that Bryson stood her up on purpose. I could tell from the moment he saw her at the pumpkin fest that his life was intertwined with hers. I watched him watch her and knew almost nothing would keep him from seeing her tonight. I did not relay my worry to her. Abigail is a strong young woman but her strength would be tested. “Let’s go, Terra, I’m tired of waiting.”
Abigail pulled her collar up and headed at a steady pace down the crowded street.
We arrived at Mrs. Twiggs as she was getting ready for bed. She was gracious enough to allow Abigail and I to stay in a small room in the back of the shop. I felt safe at the Leaf & Page. The spirits that lingered there were kind and well meaning.
“You’re back earlier than I thought,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “How was the concert?”
“Bryson never showed.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. He seemed like such a nice boy.”
“Yeah, I thought so,” Abigail said, taking off her boots and jacket and leaving them by the front door.
“Let me fix you some tea.” Mrs. Twiggs bustled toward the kitchen. We followed her.
I ran over to the fireplace where Pixel was sound asleep on his back, all four paws in the air. “Me hungry,” he murmured in his sleep.
Abigail sat in the leather wingback chair, rubbing her eyes with her hands. I leapt into her lap.
“Abigail, is that the only memory you have of your biological parents? The hurricane?” I asked.
“What? What’d you say, Terra?” Abigail asked, stroking my fur absentmindedly.
“You said the song ‘Gimme Shelter’ triggered that memory of the night you lost your parents.”
“I don’t know, Terra, I’ve heard ‘Gimme Shelter’ hundreds of times. I like the Stones. I don’t know why I remembered this time, I was holding Bryson’s hand and I felt, I don’t know, safe? And then it came to me.”
“Abigail, I’d like to try something with you tonight if you trust me.”
“What are you talking about, Terra?”
“Let me explain. Sometimes when you try to remember the simplest thing whether it’s a grocery list or the title of a book you read recently, it seems to slip your mind. The harder you try to remember the harder it is to pull back that memory.”
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about, Terra.”
“If you stop trying to retrieve that memory sometimes it comes back by itself. By searching for it, you expend all your energy, you run down thousands of paths along your brain synapses. Think of it as RAM memory, limited. If you reach capacity Googling your memory, your processor locks up. You concentrate more on the process of trying to retrieve the memory than letting the memory appear. I’d like you to relax and clear your mind. Don’t think about anything. A clean slate.”
Mrs. Twiggs appeared holding a sliver tea service. “What are you two up to?” she asked seeing me staring eye to eye with Abigail. Pixel stirred at the sound of the rattling cookie tray and ran over to wind through Mrs. Twiggs’ feet, meowing softly.