Straying from the Light(Vivien Christian Cahyadi) By the time I woke up I was on the hospital bed. I could clearly hear the distant beep of the heart monitor, the resonance of my heavy breathing – me sucking the air from under the finely fitted oxygen mask. I looked around through my bleary eyes and moved my fingers, the slightly coarse surface of the bedding slipped past my skin. My senses seemed to be working fine. But my mind felt hazy... Who am I?

The door flung open, which I assumed from the sudden loud bang it produced as it hit the wall. Feet shuffled approaching me, brown eyes met mine. A boy, with tears streaming down his face grabbed my hand and squeezed it in a loving manner. “Fayne…” he whispered, almost faltering.

2 years had passed since then. My name’s Fayne, an 18 year old girl who has been suffering amnesia since that hospital incident – specifically, an anterograde amnesia which is caused by traumatical event and head trauma, both ranged from the car accident that killed my parents and injured myself. No… it’s not an accident, but rather, a planned murder, according to my brother – yeah, that boy earlier. It is he who told me all this. All I remembered when I woke up was… the face of my parents, the happy memories I had with them and my childhood memories. But not even one has brother in it. I have no memory of brother – my brother Aaron.

My eyes dance across the underground training room and then rest themselves on brother’s lean but strong figure. His fingers are wrapped around a handgun, one finger placed on the trigger, ready to shoot. As he pulls, I watch as the bullet cleaves through the air from the muzzle until it hits the target dummy’s forehead – right at the middle. Perfect shot as always, as expected of brother. I clap and stretch a grin. Brother smiles back at me.

“Your turn Fayne,” brother outstretched his hand which is holding the handgun. I nod and take it, feeling the cool metal surface against my calloused hand. It’s a semi automatic handgun, one that automatically inserts a fresh cartridge into the chamber every time a bullet’s shot. I cocked the hammer downwards, hold the gun single handedly and enter my single shooting position (hand outstretched but slightly bended, body leaning sideways). I pull the trigger. The bullet soars, cutting the flower stalk into two and then buries itself into the wall. Did I mention that I am better than brother? I smirk sardonically to my brother. Brother returned mine with a kind smile. Nevertheless I know that smile is not genuine. Mirthless, I could say. I don’t know why… it’s like brother is building a wall between us. He has never been open to me and when I brought up the topic about my past self, he will quickly evade it and change the topic. It’s like he doesn’t want me to remember at all.

“Okay, I think it’s enough training for today,” brother declares once he stands up, “let’s call it a day.” He starts to head out but I stay still. “I will still train, go ahead of me.” I give him a smile, careful not to make him unnecessarily worry. “Okay.” And he left.

I give out a big sigh. More… I still need to train more. It’s all for the sake of avenging father and mother’s death. Kill that murderer… kill, kill. To think that the loving parents left in my memory was killed by some obtuse bastard. How can I ever forgive that? I give out an insane laughter and form a fist. I swear. If I am a vampire right now I will be giving off that red sheen from my eyes, bearing my fangs in hunger for blood.
---
My whole body tingles with anxiety and excitement. The fiery feeling inside me just can’t be put off. Right now, towering over me is a mansion the size of a football field. Seriously, so this is where that murderer resides? My eye twitches in disbelief. What ulterior motive did this rich guy bore when he or she killed my parents?

Okay, let me explain why I am here. My brother found the address of this lunatic killer I’ve been wanting to kill from his “secret” connection. Yeah, so that’s why I am here, concealing myself in the shadow of the brick wall surrounding the mansion. The door creaks open, I freeze. A woman in her 40s with a white shawl wrapped around the upper half of her body and a gorgeous one piece dress flings out from behind the open entrance. She looks beautiful in spite of her age, with a flowing blonde hair that hangs past her shoulder.

“Let’s follow her.” Brother whispered in a small but audible voice. “Wait! So you mean she’s the one who killed our parents?” I spoke with a tinge of urgency and disbelief but still keep my voice low. Brother nods and gingerly follows the woman’s path just as she takes a turn (we don’t want to arouse her attention and makes her think that she is being followed). I indignantly follow and grumble inwardly. Why does brother always take the lead? He’s always the one who knows the situation and constantly gives me orders of what I need to do.

We continue to follow the woman like a pair of hungry lions waiting to strike on their prey. We are apparently finding an opportunity to catch the woman unguarded when there’s only her, and us. It’s all about timing. The woman wanders around bustling streets with shops lining it. And of course, we are wearing different disguises from time to time so that she won’t feel suspicious of us. Right now, we are playing the role of a couple in a date. I link my arm with brother’s, faking my laughter and cheerfulness as we jostle past a myriad of people. Despite looking placid, a war is actually taking place in my mind. The “just strike without a care” force against the “be patient and strike when the time’s right” force. I have a hard time containing the strong urge to strangle the woman right here right now. Plus, my heart is thumping wildly from the mere fact that brother’s arm touching mine. I shake that thought away, what am I thinking? He’s just my brother.

The woman goes into a flower shop where different colored flowers crowded its display gallery. I eyed her through the distance, she’s probably buying some from the fact that she’s looking at them meticulously (contemplating what flowers look best for her bouquet). Brother nudges at me, his line of sight points to a clothing store. I give a pat on his back, signaling that I understand. We are going to change our disguise once again.

We emerge from the store entrance dressing like brothers. Damn yeah, I am disguising as a boy – reluctantly. My short hair which goes just past my shoulder is tied into a high knot. I tug at my baggy trousers, man… boy’s clothing are completely uncomfortable.

We are just heading back towards the flower store when a bashful school girl approached me with a flushed face. “Hello, my name is Anna! If it does not trouble you can we be friends?” she declares with such audacity that leaves me momentarily stunned. She then gives me a piece of paper. Written on it is her phone number. “Call me!” she giggles as she leaves.

“Guess you’re popular huh?” brother teases me.

My face flashes a shocking red hue, “shut up!”

We suddenly revert back into our “serious spying mode”, turning alert when I spot the woman coming out of the flower shop, holding a bouquet of white flowers that turns pinkish in the center. Continuing our current stint, we try to keep ourselves in the shadows.

We leave the bustling city road, entering a completely different area – more isolated, I guess. From here onwards, there are lesser people. Perfect chance. I stretch out a lopsided grin.

The woman finally comes to a stop. I tense, taken aback by her destination: the cemetery. The fact that she will be killed right in the place where she will be buried entertains my line of thoughts. Brother and I wait for the right moment as we peek out from under a wall of bushes.

The woman kneels down in front of a tombstone which is partly eroded by the power of nature. She takes the wrapping off from around the flowers and places the flower neatly in a vase planted beside the grave.

I fidget in my place, I can’t suppress my impatience any longer. I stand up abruptly, causing the bushes to rustle in my rising. That catches the woman’s attention. She turns towards us, brother remains concealed. I take my gun that’s been residing on the side of my right sock and point it at her.

“Stay in place,” my voice comes out stern. I inch closer, my eyes glaring at her with resentment, every part of my muscles tense with rage. The woman of course, looks baffled, her eyes spring wide open.

“Fayne…” she mutters, her voice sounding sad and… regretful? I lower my gun but suddenly pull it up in haste. She’s probably trying to trick me.

I spout words of anger, “Don’t call my name in such familiar tone! Why do you know my name? Or are you the type who remembers those you tried to kill?”

The lady trembles in fear, and just at this time, she looks older than when I saw her before; the wrinkles lining her face are profoundly visible at this distance and she look slightly skinny. “What are you saying, Fayne?” she manages to say.

“Don’t call my name! And don’t act as if you don’t know anything, you killed my parents!”

Pause, silent ensues. “I didn’t kill anyone. But if you want to kill me, then kill me. It’s normal for you to despise me.”

“What do you mean by not killing anyone? And why do you act as if you know me?” I shout, emitting a ton of heavy aura.

“Do you forget? I am your mother…” BANG! The familiar sound of over 120 decibels hits my eardrums. The woman’s chest is stained with maroon red. She falls over, face hitting the ground. Brother’s figure emerges from behind the now fallen body of the woman, one hand holding a gun. Mother... Yeah, if I look carefully, she bears a resemblance to the mother I know, the mother in my memory.

I contort my face in confusion. “Brother… I don’t understand. She said… she is my mother.” I look into brother’s eyes, as if searching what he is possibly hiding from me.

“She is indeed your mother.” Brother gives me a piercing cold gaze.

My gun slips out of my grasp. Wait, it can’t be true, right? I start to laugh, sounding like someone that has mental disorder. “So, you have been deceiving me all along?” Tears threaten to spill.

“Sorry,” brother looks away, “it’s to help you take revenge, for being abandoned by your mother.”

“Wait, ‘Your mother’? That means you’re not even my brother?” I raise my voice. My tongue tastes bitter.

“Yes, I am not your brother,” he looks at me, “I am your boyfriend, before you sped down the road with your motorbike in a drunken stupor, colliding into a wall afterwards and finally lost your memories. It’s a miracle that you broke no bones.” Tears form on brother’s no, Aaron’s eyes. “Do you know how much I worry for you? If you die, I…,” Aaron breaks into a fit of hysterical sobs. “It’s all your mother’s fault! If she hadn't abandoned you, you wouldn't have fallen into a depressed state. You wouldn't have forgotten me and you wouldn't get injured!” Aaron growls.

He steps closer to me and grabs my arms. “I love you Fayne,” he croons, then wraps his arms around me. The sword impaling my heart vanishes, replaced by a blooming flower. I close my eyes, enjoying his tight embrace.

But then Aaron breaks the hug, pushing me by the shoulder forcefully. Pain is clearly written over his face. “But now you hate me, am I right?” he takes his gun out, grabs my hand and wraps my fingers around its handle. Then he presses the muzzle onto his throat, right under his jaws. “Then kill me, Fayne.”

Aaron forcefully made my index finger to hover precariously on top of the trigger, his power overwhelms mine. “No, wait! I don’t hate you Aaron!”

“Liar!” Aaron’s finger overlaps with mine which is over the trigger, he pushes it without hesitation. Blood splatters. Aaron falls. I fall to my knees. My arms dangle at my sides. Tears combine with blood. My memories are back.
---
General point of view
A girl shambles laboriously, dragging her feet as if they are chained. The boy clothing she wears are now smothered with blood. She removes the band that’s been propping her hair up. Clumps of hair cascade down her shoulders.

The girl finds herself in her brother’s (or what she thought was her brother’s) room, where books of different sizes are neatly placed on shelves. On top of the table is a neatly folded paper. She takes it with trembling hands, lips quivering as she read on.
---
Dear Fayne,
By this time you will have probably known everything. I am not your brother and I’m sorry for deceiving you all this time. I can’t introduce myself as your boyfriend for I am afraid it will cause your memory to resurface, preventing you from murdering your mother.

You had always been unwilling to take revenge. Your father passed away because of an incurable disease. Your family, now consisting of just you and your mother, fell into huge debt. But finally, your mother found a potential man to remarry. That man is a rich guy. He promised your mother that he would clear her debts but he didn’t allow you to live with him. He disliked the fact that he’ll be living under the same roof with a child of another man. He promised your mother that he would give you monthly allowance in return for you to live by yourself. Your mother finally decided to abandon you for money and since then on, you live your life in depression – to the point that you almost killed yourself.

I, who had already been your boyfriend at that time, couldn’t just stand to watch you suffer. That’s why I devised this plan right after you went amnesiac.
Fayne… I know that you will hate me after you know the truth. But I am prepared to die. Then… you can live happily ever after, right, Fayne?

I love you.

From,
Aaron
---
Stuck on the paper is a heart shaped charm which is dangling on a thin silver chain. The girl brought it up, admiring it through her tears inundated eyes. Then she clasps it in a fist and sobs. She could still feel the lingering warmth of his hug. Yet that person is gone, forever gone.

“I am not happy now that you’re gone. Because I love you, idiot.”

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