Ceiling. White. Dusty.

Her thoughts scrambled to rearrange themselves, wondering where she was.

She sat up and noticed, through the open windows, that it was early morning. The skies were just beginning to lighten in the rays of the sun. The room was empty; silence filled the air, save for her slow, steady breathing, the faint twittering of birds perched on the branches of a tree outside, and the distant sound of a dog barking. She looked down to find herself in checked red pajamas, floral sheets bunched up around her legs.

She frowned, not recognizing this place at all.

But another thought crossed her mind, something more urgent than the where and the how.

Her hand reached up and stroked through her hair. She moved it to touch her face and felt the smoothness of skin, the outline of features that felt alien to her.

Anxiety began to gush into the empty spaces of her brain which were not occupied by drowsiness. Acting on impulse, she flung aside the sheets and they tumbled onto the floor. Her feet hit cold square tiles and she stood up, eyes searching for an answer.

Her gaze landed on a dressing table in the corner and she went for it, pushing through the haze of sleep that made her eyelids droop. She stared at her reflection, looking innocently back at her from the mirror, trying desperately to remember if this really were her face, if this were her room.

She sank onto the chair, propped her elbows on the table, leaned forward and closed her eyes, hands massaging her forehead. She could see nothing but blanks and a single question:

Who am I?

“Rise and shine, honey,” Elizabeth Skye coaxed her sixteen-year-old son, who resolutely rolled over so that he was facing away from her.

“It’s a Saturday,” he grumbled. “I don’t see why I have to shine either.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I was hoping we could at least have breakfast together for once.”

A pause. Then, “If you weren’t away so much, that wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” his mother demanded.

“I’m just saying.”

Elizabeth waited, swallowing down her instinct to tell him off, determined not to say what she had in mind, which were Do you think it’s easy for me to do my job and keep my family in one piece? and You don’t understand what I go through every day, and I wish you’d be a little more sensitive about it.

The silence got to him after a few minutes and he reluctantly pushed off his pillows and stood. “Oh, all right.”

“Go take a bath,” she instructed, folding his blankets.

He grabbed them from her. “I can do it, thank you. I’m sixteen years old, in case you’ve forgotten. Oh, and this isn’t potty training, I know when to use the bathroom, okay?”

She frowned and bit her lip, restraining her inner scream. You’re still my son!

“Okay, and no, I haven’t forgotten. I also haven’t forgotten that time I came back home and saw your messy room.”

“Wow, I thought it must’ve slipped your mind,” he said sarcastically.

Elizabeth didn’t quite trust herself to speak just then.

He finished making his bed and slouched off to his closet. “You can go now.” It was more of an order than a suggestion, and she felt like he was dismissing her, like she was a maid who didn’t deserve his respect.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, not at all happy about his attitude.

He glanced back at her. “Mom, can you please go now?” he said, slowly and deliberately.

She crossed her arms and regarded him coolly. “We’ll talk about this later.” She turned and walked out of her son’s room, shutting the door quietly behind her and leaning against it.

He had changed so much. Elizabeth rarely had time for him, what with her business and frequent engagements. Every time she went home, something else had taken place, growth spurts and awards and new haircuts and different personalities. He used to be obedient and loving, but then, that was back when she drove him to school and personally took care of him.

She wondered how Kristoph was coping. Bereft of a father who had died ten years ago due to cancer, and having an absentee mother, it was probably the reason why he had taken to rebelling. There was no other way for him to get the attention he needed, and that was what she told herself in order not to lose her patience and say something they would both regret later on.

She decided to check on the girl.

Elizabeth had just arrived from a recent business trip and had visited their backyard where a pavilion was put up over a clear, man-made pond. She had walked into the pavilion and seen the girl fast asleep, curled up on the ground. Joseph, the gardener, was nearby, tending to the flowers, and she had called him. Before she could think if it were wise, they had brought the girl to a room meant for guests and she had ordered the available maids to see to her. The girl had slept on as she was changed out of her clothing, sponged down with lukewarm water and a cloth.

Somewhere in her mind last night, from the moment that she had found the girl and brought her in, she had been thinking that Kristoph needed a companion apart from the servants. A sibling, ideally, but since she couldn’t exactly bear one, she had thought of adopting an orphan or contacting their relatives for a cousin who might be willing to stay over. And it seemed as if the girl might have been the answer.

Of course, Elizabeth had to find out who she was first and have a background check done. More importantly, she didn’t want to force her. If it turned out that the girl was unwilling, Elizabeth would send her back to her family --- if she had one, that is. She wasn’t entirely sure. The state of the girl’s clothing, the fact that it could be deduced that she was certainly not from these parts, only increased her doubt that there were relatives to be found.

She would have to see for herself.

Her sandals slapped against the floor as she made her way to the guest room. She knocked on the door, not wanting to disturb the girl from her sleep.

There was no answer.

She knocked again and received the same response: silence. She pushed open the door.

The girl was sitting on the bed and didn’t look up when Elizabeth walked in.

“Good morning,” she greeted, and the girl raised her head. The panic in her eyes was unmistakable, as well as the slant of her eyebrows and the quiver of her lips.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, concerned. She put a hand on the girl’s forehead but felt her flinch from the contact. In that brief second, she detected no hint of fever or other symptoms.

“You seem fine,” she ventured, trying to get a reply.

None was given. The girl looked away and studied the wall.

Elizabeth sat down beside her. “What’s your name?” she asked gently.

The girl continued to examine the wall. She had decided that, in the absence of a memory to be drawn upon, she would ignore anyone or anything until she finally remembered something. Besides, she didn’t know this woman, friendly though she may seem, and had felt a flicker of fear when the hand had been placed on her forehead.

There was a sigh. “Are you deaf?”

She was summarily rebuffed with another minute of silence.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Well, if ever you want anything, just ask anyone here.” Elizabeth decided that it was time to leave; apparently, the girl was not going to talk to her any time soon.

Just as she was turning the knob, the girl mustered enough courage to ask one question. Her whole identity was a bigger puzzle to her than others’, but she felt that if she at least knew the woman’s name, she would be making some headway.

“May I ask who you are?”

Elizabeth glanced back at the youngster, who was now observing her every move. “My name is Elizabeth Skye.”

The girl frowned. Who was Elizabeth Skye to her? Was she an aunt? Her mother? A friend? A distant relative? She wracked her brain but it refused to clarify the matter.

Elizabeth left the room when she noted that the girl would not say anything more. She promised herself to talk to her after she was done discussing things with Kristoph.

Why was it so hard to deal with the young nowadays?

Kristoph didn’t want to admit that he’d waited until he could hear his mother’s footsteps before he started to eat. So when Elizabeth sat at the dining table, she thought what he hoped she would think: that he’d went on before her, not bothering to be patient. She had no idea either that her son had waited for her for thirty minutes at the table despite his hunger.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered darkly as he speared a hotdog. It hung limply from his fork, wondering what it could have done to be treated with such viciousness.

“I had to take care of…things,” Elizabeth said. Kristoph didn’t know about the girl, and she intended not to inform him until certain facts were cleared up.

He gave her his annoyed expression. “If you’re going to wake me up early to have breakfast together, at least be on time,” he said.

It felt like she was the child and he was the adult. Elizabeth pursed her lips and ate her food, expressing her disapproval of his tone.

All throughout breakfast, the barbs continued to pass between them. Kristoph was merciless, while his mother tried to restrain herself from yelling at him and stood her own ground. Either way, the rift between mother and son was palpable; however, where no one was looking, there were the underlying qualities of genuine love and concern, although they were both too grumpy to show it. Kristoph resisted from demolishing the food and Elizabeth tried not to eat too much. He passed her the jug of juice while making a very rude comment about her company and Elizabeth handed him the plate of toasted bread while she lectured him about his behavior.

Elizabeth was sipping juice and counting to ten after her son had just aimed another stinger at her when a scream rent the air from the second floor. She released the glass in surprise and it landed with a clatter on the table, staining the pure white cover with orange liquid. Kristoph swallowed his food hurriedly and almost choked. They rushed up the stairs, Kristoph gaining the lead and Elizabeth couldn’t help noticing that he had gone through another growth spurt.

The door to the guest room was ajar, marked by a wicker basket which had fallen to the floor, spilling the contents, which were linens and newly-laundered curtains. They stepped over it, Elizabeth kicking off her sandals because they had snagged on the hem of a curtain and had a tendency to slip around.

The girl was sitting on the window sill, throwing her leg over to the other side, bracing herself against the frame for support. Martha, the maid who had opened the door only to find their guest who seemed keen on committing bodily harm, was trying to persuade her to come down, a hand pulling her back. The girl impatiently swatted the hand away and teetered; Martha did not attempt to touch her again for fear that she would lose her balance, but she continued to plead.

Kristoph glanced at his mother. “Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?” he demanded, taken aback at the appearance of a person he knew nothing about.

His mother could read the hurt spelled all over his eyes and couldn’t answer him.

The girl observed the precarious drop which, if she aimed carefully, would land her on the pond. If she missed, it would either be the flat ground or the rosebushes, which were both deadly in their own way. Although, if anyone asked her, she’d rather fall on the ground than on the rosebushes --- at least she wouldn’t be pricked by thorns and whatnot.

From her peripheral vision, she spotted the branch of a tree. She turned to calculate the chances of holding on to the branch and the odds of it not breaking under her weight. As she considered, the birds fluttered away, as if feeling her gaze on them and wished to hide from it.

Martha made another desperate grab for her hand and screamed in her ear: “It’s dangerous!”

She knew it was dangerous. But she didn’t really care. She couldn’t remember anything, which presented enough of a danger in itself; she didn’t know who these people were; she had no idea whether she was safe here or not. At least, in this attempt of hers to escape, she could try to work towards lessening the danger as much as possible.

She debated. The tree or the pond/ground/rosebush?

Her chances were very, very slim. But she noticed that the section of the branch near the trunk was directly above the pond. First, she’d make a grab for it, move towards that part, and let go. Then she’d swim to the pavilion, climb up the stone steps that led to it from the water itself, and run. Run to the woods, continue running until they couldn’t catch her.

Tree it was, then.

She pushed Martha away and the maid staggered back, falling onto the bed. As she got up and Elizabeth and Kristoph watched in horror, the girl threw over her other leg, took a deep breath and jumped for the branch, her hand grazing past the window, earning her a scar.

Pain shot through her wrist, but she managed to grab the branch.

Until her scar brushed against the rough bark and she unconsciously let go.

Kristoph wasn’t going to just stand there. The moment the girl was preparing herself for the moment of action, he had dashed forward and followed suit. That was why he’d caught her as she fell, although that didn’t do them much good. They both felt the branch straining against their combined weight.

Falling was a sensation that Kristoph did not like. No, he didn’t like it at all. The girl was impassive in his arms, and he realized that she was calmly eyeing what awaited them below.

He gulped. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to look.

They landed with a splash into the pond which, Kristoph knew, contained various kinds of fish and ornamental plants. He felt the girl wriggle and he tightened his hold on her. He wasn’t about to let her go without getting some answers from her and his mother.

“Hold still!” he snapped.

She glowered and kicked him in the leg.

Kristoph winced but didn’t let her go. Then he saw red spreading across the clear water.

The girl’s hand bore a wound, and it was bleeding.

Without a thought, he swam over to the pavilion. He loosened his grip on her for a second and she tried to run again, but he pulled her back.

“Look,” he hissed in her ear, “I don’t really like this situation any more than you do, and I don’t understand anything at all that’s going on, but could you please stop running away every freakin’ second? If you want to kill yourself, do it someplace else, not while you’re here. You’ll end up making us liable. We didn’t even do anything to you.”

“I am not trying to kill myself,” she shot back at him.

They glared at each other.

Kristoph yanked up her hand and she gritted her teeth. The scar was a diagonal line across her palm and the bleeding was not as bad as it was a while ago. Still, he could guess that it still hurt. Though he wasn’t so sure he should care about this basket case anymore than he had to.

“Kristoph!”

They looked up to see Elizabeth and a retinue of servants running to them. She had been terrified as she watched them hang on to the branch and then fall. It was a good thing that they had landed into the pond, although that still did not ease her fears for their safety.

“Thank goodness,” she gasped, pulling him in for a hug. His eyes burned into hers and he quickly pulled away. Elizabeth bit her lip. She knew he was feeling betrayed at the moment since she had neglected to tell him about their guest.

Their guest!

“She’s injured,” Kristoph stated gruffly to the maids who had now gathered around the girl. He let go of her hand and Elizabeth saw a drop of blood hit the wooden planks. The girl’s face was as blank as ever, but Kristoph could feel the mingled emotions of frustration and annoyance that emanated from her. She did not look pleased that her plan had been foiled.

He turned to his mother, not really wanting to face her right now, but knowing he had to. “I think it’s about time someone gave me an explanation. You might enjoy keeping secrets but I don’t.” He cast a glance at the girl, who was scowling as the maids fussed about her hair and the state of her clothes. They didn’t dare do the same to him, though,  already anticipating what his reaction would be if they ever interfered with him.

Elizabeth nodded. “I was planning on talking to you, anyway. Go get dressed. Martha and Anne, please see to it that she doesn’t do anything else and get her out of those pajamas. I’ll see you both in my office.”

She left the scene, knowing that if she stayed within thirty feet of him, her son would blow up.

The girl was determined to keep quiet. But she glared at anyone who tried to comb out the snarls in her hair or touch her.

“The office is on the second floor, beside the master’s bedroom,” Kristoph told her and she transferred her searing gaze to him. He smirked.

Martha pulled on her ward’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, we’ll have you clean and patched up in no time.”

Kristoph’s smirk grew wider, and the girl fought down the urge to lunge at him and tear out handfuls of his golden brown hair.

So, against her instincts, she followed Martha and swept past him with the whole army of servants who had taken it into their heads to be her personal guard.

Kristoph’s smile lost its acid when they were out of view. A serious look came into his eyes as he walked back to the mansion and to his room, thinking of his mother, the girl, and what had caused the feeling of something slipping down his leg when he’d climbed up into the pavilion.

Hopefully, it was just the trickle of water and not a fish.