Lies! I’d been fed lie after lie. And like the ice chips after my awakening, I’d accepted each and every one.
Sobs replaced my voice as I fought to make sense of what had happened. Nothing made sense. All the people I held dear—my husband, friends, sisters, and brothers—were all a sham.
Lifting my left hand, through blurry vision, I stared at the simple gold band. I wasn’t Sara Adams, nor was I married. My chest ached as my heart begged me to be wrong, to believe the life I’d lived was mine, but I couldn’t.
I am Stella Montgomery, an investigative journalist for WCJB in Detroit.
I knew that was true.
I had a career and a life, with a real family and friends. I recalled blue eyes—piercing blue eyes. I had a boyfriend named Dylan, Dylan Richards, who was a detective.
My breathing hitched at my internal monologue warning me not to question. It wasn’t my place. As a woman, I needed to accept. I should pray to Father Gabriel and confess to Jacob.
The hell with that!
Questioning was what I did—what I had done. It was part of my job. No wonder this had been so difficult.
Holding the walls for support, I walked back to our bedroom.
Our bedroom.
Again I hugged myself as my now-empty stomach twisted. Jacob and I weren’t really married. I wasn’t against premarital sex; memories of me with Dylan confirmed that. But as I stared at the bed where I’d made love with my husband, a new question surfaced.
Have I been raped?
I shook my head. No. Despite the lies at every turn, my heart confirmed that I hadn’t. Never had Jacob forced himself on me, but then again, were the lies he’d fed me any better?
Had he? Did he know the truth?
I couldn’t think about that . . .
Shit! The nausea. What if I’m pregnant with his child?
I didn’t even know his name. Mine wasn’t Sara; maybe his wasn’t Jacob. I couldn’t have the baby of a man whose name I didn’t know. Pulling my robe tightly around me, I looked at the clock—nearly four in the morning.
With the whirlwind in my head, I knew I’d never be able to fall back to sleep. Instead I slowly walked through our quiet apartment, taking in everything anew as I passed down the short hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. With the drapes opened, even at this early hour, the summer’s perpetual sunlight allowed me to see our world. Everything around me was my past, the only one I’d thought I’d ever have, the one Jacob and I had created together, the one that only a few hours ago had held the potential for a promising future.
No longer.
Deceit tarnished everything, everywhere I looked.
My hands trembled as I stood and turned slowly, mindlessly, around and around. Everything was wrong. I was surrounded by lies.
How had it happened? Why had it happened? Who had done this to me?
I grasped at a shred of hope.
Perhaps Jacob was disillusioned too. Maybe he believed we were truly married. Could we both be victims?
I wandered to the table and sat, not sure which of my thoughts to believe.
“Dear Father Gabriel,” I said between sobs, “please take away these impure thoughts. I confess I remember my life before . . . no, I confess I have allowed evil . . .”
I took a deep breath.
The thoughts weren’t evil; The Light was.
I stared at the stove where I’d cooked dinners for my husband. I was a good cook, even though I remembered that as Stella I didn’t cook. As Stella I hadn’t been ready to co-own a fish, yet in this life that I’d been forced to live, I’d been ready to have a baby.
Why had I been forced to become someone I wasn’t?
Yet I was . . . I’d been Sara. None of it made sense.
Standing, I walked toward the cupboards and reached for a bag of decaffeinated tea. As I began to fill the teakettle with water, I decided I wanted coffee. I needed coffee. I’d gotten the decaffeinated tea in preparation for pregnancy. With the confusion and hurt filling my heart and soul, I refused to consider that pregnancy was possible. After all, I’d been without my birth control for only . . . I did the math . . . almost two weeks. People didn’t usually get pregnant the first month.
How had they done it? Why had they done it? What would happen now that I knew?
While the coffeepot began to sputter, I made my way to the kitchen table and collapsed back into a chair. I needed more than coffee. I needed to get away from the Northern Light and back to my life. I needed to find a way to be free from The Light.
The Light!
The incomplete slivers of scenes were forming complete movie reels. I, Stella, had been investigating The Light. It was the last thing I could recall doing in Detroit.
Other facets of my life came back: my parents, my sister, Dylan; Bernard, my boss; Tracy, my friend; and Foster, my coworker.
Although the lies that I’d been fed and willingly consumed sickened me, to have a past—when I’d had none—excited me. My head ached as the gaping holes that I’d accepted would forever remain void were closing with record speed, filling with a real past that had been hidden away.