Memories Of A Night Novels & Stories

I was confused by the text he sent as I read it again. Wayne: Thank you again for saving my daughter last night. She was much calmer and we spoke to her for a while, but she didn't seem to remember you when your name came up. I know this might be hard but considering what she has been through it would be best if you give her a couple of days to recover. I can’t tell for sure how long it will take for the memories to come back. I hope you understand. Wayne

Tasha opened her eyes, she sat on the bed and frowned her face, confused. "Where am I?" She scanned the room, and she was surprised to see herself in her room. "How did I end up here?" She troubled her head to recollect how she ended up in her room, but she remembered nothing. She tried to stand up, but she was too weak to stand up, and she took a deep breath. Malachi came, smiling, with a cup of tea in his hands. “You open your eyes already?”

“Remember that night? How you ran like the perfect prey?” My heart jolted. The memory hit me, dragging me back through years of trauma to a time when things were simpler, yet just as terrifying. I remembered. It was a memory that could be counted as one of my life’s most thrilling nights—one of my best teenage days—but the recollection had soured and curdled the moment Max was convicted.

“Listen, Nia. You have to chew on this ice to save the rest of your brain. The night spice will not only distort your memory; it will freeze a part of your core, and you start to hallucinate. If you said you both met when the council members were giving their epistles, then you are a few minutes close to losing it. Please, for all its worth, chew on it as hard as you can. Let your entire body take it in. It will only last for a few seconds.” Despite my hesitation, I know better that I need my memory in check. I took the freezing glass from Ezra and put the four ice cubes in my mouth. Ezra was wrong about the effect going away in a few seconds. I couldn't feel my mouth for the next five minut

Caelum glances at me warily, and despite how strange it feels to speak in a controlled tone, I do. “I really do not want to get into an argument with you Caelum. I’m not planning to get on your nerves so if that’s what you think I want to do, it’s not. I just want to know if you have any idea what happened last night. My memory is blank, which it never is. I can only remember things in glimpses and flashes and it’s… it’s really not even about the pictures or the fact that I went to a club. I just want to know what exactly happened last night

“This is embarrassing.” I noticed the curious glances from passersby, but I didn’t care. “I’m sorry, Alessia,” I said quietly. “I know I shouldn’t have let that night happen… but I can’t pretend it didn’t.” I held her gaze, my chest tightening. “The memories of that night haunt me. You haunt me. Every night before I sleep, every morning when I wake up. So tell me—how exactly does one forget something like that?” She finally looked at me.

The memory clawed its way back, slow and jagged. A tremor ran down her spine, and the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood stiff, as if recoiling from the vivid remnants of that night— the night she wished she could erase. Rome couldn’t remember the exact moment everything faded to black. One second, she was clutching a drink too tightly; the next, she was drowning in silence. Had the pain knocked her unconscious? Or had she simply slipped into sleep, unaware, as the man— that man— took what was never his to take? She didn’t know. The fragments were fractured and bloodless, nothing more than silent screams buried in the fog of her memory.

I know the shape of that night the way you know the words to a song you have never once chosen to play. But when I reach past the words, there’s nothing underneath them. No cold. No smell. No weight of anyone’s hand in mine. Just a flat gray place where the worst night of my life is supposed to be, and the story lying on top of it like a sheet thrown over furniture. Start with the rain, I tell myself. Everyone remembers rain. And something moves. Not a memory. Smaller. A splinter of one. Warm light, gold and low, not the white of the hall lamps. A man’s voice close to my ear, saying two words with a patience that turns my stomach inside out.

Memories crashed down, jagged and ugly: My father’s hand striking my face. Running barefoot into the night. A man’s voice — deep, unfamiliar. Arms catching me before I hit the ground. Oh, God. The nightclub. The blood. I remembered the blood. My stomach twisted. I staggered toward the door. It wasn’t locked. Why wasn’t it locked? I cracked it open — just a sliver — and peered into the hallway. Empty. Silent. The house stretched wide and endless, shadows pooling in corners.

He sounded relieved. "She woke up once last night. She didn't even recognize me." Last night, when I first came to, my vision hadn't cleared yet. I simply couldn't see who was there, so I asked. The healer went on, "She's been unconscious for so long, it's normal that her memory's jumbled. We'll run another test. If there's memory loss, there are always witches' potions. The southern witch, Olivia…" This poison mainly targeted the mind of a werewolf, and only then the body. My body felt fine. Clearly, the healer's antidote had worked.