Part IX

Hayden sat on the edge of his bed, notebook balanced on his knee. He played with the ring that hung from a chain on his neck as he thought.

“Name,” he muttered. “What was her name?”

The moment it came back to him, he wrote it down along with the other things he had remembered. He was confused as to why he kept forgetting her so he had decided to write down everything as he slowly remembered it.

It had been a long day and he was tired. His head was spinning and his whole body felt like it was about to fall apart. The sorrow he had smashed down inside of him was starting to bubble back up. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to turn his attention back to his project at hand.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the sketch he had done on the opposite page. It was supposed to be Artemis but no matter how he looked at it, it looked both right and wrong at the same time.

With a sigh, he snapped the notebook shut and fell back on his bed. It supported him, giving in slightly under his weight, cradling him in a comfortable hug. He tossed the book onto the nightstand and rolled over on his side, pulling the comforter over him.

He closed his eyes but his mind wouldn’t go to sleep. His body was tired, aching, crying for rest yet his brain kept reliving the day over and over again. It kept getting stuck on Artemis but each time, it remembered more than the first time.

Eventually, he drifted off even though he didn’t exactly want to. He hoped that it would be a quiet, quick night. He didn’t want any dreams.

But it seemed that the universe was conspiring against him, determined to give him a terrible night. As he tossed and turned, he was haunted by the memories that couldn’t seem to leave him alone.

The air was sucked out of his lungs as the shouts erupted around him. His mother grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the back of the store. They stumbled over fallen people and groceries that had been knocked off the shelves in their panicked flight.

“Stop!” the man yelled, dark eyes glaring at them.

They froze and Hayden slowly looked over his shoulder. His heart was racing and the adrenaline was pumping through his veins. His head felt like it was about to explode as the headache started. He couldn’t take the shouts of fear and panic. He couldn’t handle the emotions that were rushing through him.

The black barrel of the gun made him jerk to reality, realizing how bad the situation was. The man wasn’t just making empty threats; he was going to actually blow the place up.

Hayden swallowed as he put his hands in the air in surrender.

“Get on the floor!” the man yelled, voice shaking.

He waved the gun around in the air, threatening to fire it. Everyone dropped as did Hayden and his mother. The man stepped over the bodies of the scared people and stopped before him, crouching down. He pressed the barrel against Hayden’s skull.

The cold metal made his skin crawl as did the man’s voice as he spoke up. “You—you’re rich. I am holding all of these people hostage until you pay me.”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t register what was happening around him. The only thing he was aware of was the coldness of the gun and his mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist, hanging on for dear life.

“I,” he stuttered. “I..I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The gun dug into his skull more. “You’re Hayden Hills, a rising celebrity with tons of money. Pay me and I’ll let you go free.”

He went to answer but his mother squeezed his wrist, stopping him. He looked over at her out of the corner of his eye and she very slowly shook her head.

“Don’t do it,” she mouthed.

Hayden was snapped out of his dream by a knock at the door. He sat up, shoulder aching and heart racing. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, telling him that morning had come. With a sigh of relief, he fell back onto his pillow as the door opened.

The door opened and a man somewhere in his early twenties stepped in. Leaning against the door, he smiled and flipped the lights on.

“Time to rise and shine,” he teased. “You need to photosynthesis.”

Hayden laughed as he ran a hand over his face in an attempt to wake up.

“Christopher,” he breathed. “My father wants me to bring someone to the banquet tonight.”

The blonde-haired boy let out a laugh. “Your father just wants the extra reporters.”

He spoke with a light Australian accent which Hayden found strange seeing that he was born and raised in the United States. He often wondered if the boy faked it but he had never lost the accent and it even got thicker when he was upset.

“How ’bout you get out of bed and then we’ll talk about it,” he suggested before shutting the door behind him.

Hayden swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up stretching as he did so. His muscles ached, especially his shoulder which he rubbed in an attempt to loosen it up.

Pulling on a shirt, he shuffled into the hallway and down to the kitchen where a plate of food was already waiting for him. Christopher leaned against the counter as he drank the last of his orange juice.

“So who do you plan on bringing?” he set the glass down on the counter and slid it over to the sink.

Hayden was quiet for a moment as he tried to think of a way to explain his plan. “I have an idea.”

Christopher leaned his head to the side. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

He laughed. “Trust me this one time.”

The boy leaned his head to the side. “Should I?”

Hayden took a bite of the bacon and chewed for a moment before answering. “See, the thing is, Christopher, I know her but, at the same time, I don’t know her.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he frowned. “Just go with someone you know. Invite them and just deal with it for one night.”

He laughed. “I don’t want to do that!”

“Why?”

“Because then my father gets what he wants and I’m at a loss,” he explained. “This is my first public appearance since everything fell apart. I refuse to let my father ruin it or use it to his benefit.”

Slight anger coursed through him, waking him up the rest of the way. He wanted to prove to his dad one more time that he wouldn’t give way to his father’s commands anymore. Even before his mother died, his father’s love of fame and money was always more important.

Christopher nodded. “Look, I get that but it’s my job to keep you in line.”

“Just turn the other way,” Hayden argued. “Just this once.”

He sighed. “Fine! But if I get fired because of this—.”

“I won’t let you get fired,” he assured him. “I’ll simple obeying my father’s orders.”

Christopher watched as a smirk spread across Hayden’s face and he frowned slightly. “You scare me more than your father does.”

He laughed. “That’s because I take after my mom.”

"That scares me even more."