Never Knew Her Name Novels & Stories

"Speak her name. Speak her name and she shall come to you. Her name is life and death, Light and darkness. Speak her name and the world shall crumple only to be reborn. Speak her name and boundless power will be yours. She is the god of all gods…" "What is her name?" "Speak her name… Speak her name… Speak her name…" "What is her name, goddammit!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. "Her name is lost, her name is unknown, Her name is erased, she is forgotten, She is not remembered, she is unseen— All for love…" "Y-you don't know her name?" My voice turned low, broken. "But...but you're supposed to know everything!" "Her name is lost, her name is unknown,

I asked. "No one has ever seen her face," Aunt Amelia answered. I grew even more curious, having never heard of her before. "What was her name?" "No one knows her name," she replied. "What?" I asked, shocked. "And she shouldn't be spoken about. That’s why you have never heard of her. Her story isn't recorded in any book anywhere," Aunt Amelia said as she continued walking. I stared at the carving for a few more seconds before quickly following behind her. "Why?"

Barely making it down the hall, nearly tripping, tears in her eyes she tried to hide. And I followed, uselessly, standing in the doorway watching the front door slam behind her. I didn’t even know her real name. But I knew her face. Her fear. Her pain. And even before I knew her name was Olivia I knew I would never forget her. And I never did, until now. I knew Olivia seemed familiar, like I had known her before until tonight.

“You think you’re special? You’re no one.” But he didn’t know her real name. She’d used “Sara.” Short, simple, forgettable. A safety net from the start, though she hadn’t understood then how much she’d need it. After that night, he stopped coming. No calls. No notes. Nothing. She should have felt relief, but for months she woke with his voice echoing in her head. She never went back to that restaurant. Only two people ever knew: Isa, and Nico, her older brother.

It was such a thrill to watch her sleep at first, but it quickly became annoying after learning she didn't know what she truly was. It took a while to figure out why she didn't know who she was, but after she told me about her childhood, it all became clear. Her grandfather hadn't told her, and when I went to speak to him three months after we were "dating," I knew he was never going to tell her. The man was too senile to even remember his own name. I was hoping something would eventually slip, but no luck. If I had known all I needed was for him to die, I would have taken his worthless life.

It was a communion, a sharing, a moment out of time where two lost souls found each other, just one night, just one time. The next morning, she had left before I returned. She left nothing: no name, no address, no number. Nothing. I searched. For years, I searched. I knew nothing about her except her first name, which she had given me that night. Élianor. A rare, precious name, which resonated within me like a forgotten melody. I scoured London, searched social media, hired private detectives. Nothing. No one. She had vanished, evaporated, as if she had never existed.

Sometimes I knew her better than she knew herself. There’d been a time when she almost slipped away from the world completely. I’d nearly lost her and the worst part was, if she did. I would never know she did. Since I had no idea what her real name was, I would never know she died. That’s the part that keeps me up at night. If Teigan took her own life, I’d lose her forever...

She saw it was Vince calling, her stomach twisted but she didn’t pick it up. Not yet. She couldn’t face her brothers, not with her head spinning and her chest aching for someone she couldn’t name. Instead, she sank back onto the bed and curled into herself, whispering words she would never admit out loud: “Who are you?” The silence offered no answer. But the question burned all the same, echoing through her until it filled every part of her. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know his world. But she knew one thing with painful clarity

But instead, I found a dark-haired woman I didn’t recognize striding toward me, alongside— My heart leapt into my mouth. Alongside Grace, one of the women I’d known in Zahur’s house. The one who never spoke. She’d been there before me, before McKenna. I tumbled back through my memories to our moment of introductions in that awful place. I couldn’t remember who knew her name, or how since she never spoke. All I knew was that it was passed down through the groups of women like an oral history. My chest squeezed. Oh, God, how long had she been there?

It was like she was in a fever pitched dream. A name came to her then. She didn’t know from where. She murmured it outloud: “...Jojo?”