Welcome to my new series, Story Sundays! I'll be taking writing prompts (either by request or from a list I've been keeping) and writing a short story every Sunday. Each story will be written in a single sitting. Some will be good, some will be terrible, but there will be one every Sunday! Unless the world ends. Then I might have to skip a week.
Week 1: Memories
"Joan!" shouted an irritated voice from the office.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Miss Jenkins?"
"Coffee!"
I held in a sigh as I went to the espresso machine across from my desk. Why Marla Jenkins couldn't get her own damn coffee I didn't know, but I was paid to be her assistant, so I started the lengthly process of making her drink. Two shots of espresso, milk steamed to an exact temperature, three pumps of this, two of that...
"Here, Miss Jenkins," I said, walking as quickly as possible without spilling the drink.
She looked down her nose at it as I set it on the desk beside her laptop. "Two shots?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss Jenkins."
"And you did do three pumps of vanilla this time, didn't you, Jane?"
I bit my lip to refrain from reminding her again that my name was Jen, not Joan or Jane. I knew she wouldn't listen. She'd been calling me everything but Jen for the last year. "Yes, of course, Miss."
"Don't sass me, girl. I know you did it wrong last time, I could taste it. Now get out of her and scan these documents before I decide to make you make it again."
I bustled out of the office, glad for an excuse to go to a different part of the office to scan the giant folder of papers she had given me.
So each day for the past year had gone, ever since I'd gotten this job as an assistant to the CFO of Buldrich's, a massive manufacturing company. 5:30 couldn't come fast enough, and as I waited for Marla to come out of the office, I scrolled through available jobs on the internet. I thanked whatever deities might exist that today was Friday and Marla didn't want me to work this weekend. Something about a spa treatment.
So on Saturday morning, I was quite surprised to see Marla wander into the coffee shop where I was sitting, looking dazed.
I wondered what on Earth she was doing as she sat down across from me, staring at me with disconcertingly clear blue eyes. We hated each other. I thought she was condescending, arrogant, and rude; she thought I was a complete idiot. Yet here she was, looking at me as if I was the only person in the whole world that she knew.
"You're the only person in the whole world that I know," she said.
I started at that. "I - what?"
"I can't remember anything," she explained. "I don't know what happened, or when it happened, but I just...I just looked around and suddenly I didn't know anything. I don't know my name, I don't know where we are...but I know your face."
I stared at her, trying to catch her in a lie. It was easy to catch Marla in a lie - she thought she was funny so everytime she tried to pull a joke, she couldn't help but laugh at herself and couldn't keep a straight face. She was no actress. Yet all of her mannerisms seemed perfectly real.
"You - know me?" I asked, cautious.
"I know your face. I don't know who you are, or why I know you, but I just have this feeling that I should trust you."
I tried to hide the smile that came to my face. It was not a happy smile. It was cunning and malevolent, a smile of a truly depraved person. Oh, this was going to be good.
"Well, Jenkins, you are quite right," I announced grandly. "Here, you can go get the car." I handed her my car keys.
She stared down at them. "I - you want me to go get your car?"
I raised an eyebrow at her. "You said you remember me, so can't you remember your job? Go get the car, Jenkins."
"Uhm, is Jenkins my first name or my last name?"
I sighed dramatically. "Jenkins, can we discuss this in the car? You are embarrasing me." Indeed, several people were now looking towards us, but not because of anything Marla had done. I was acting so strangely that people who were familiar with me here were staring over, wondering if I'd gone mad. They might have been right.
"Okay, um, right away." Marla rushed out, my car keys clutched in her hand.
I maintained my disapproving face for as long as I could, until the door of the coffee shop clanged shut behind her. I burst out laughing.
"Jen, what is the matter with you?" the barista, James, asked me. We'd been chatting every time I came in here for the last few weeks, and I'd flirted shamelessly with him, but I didn't think he actually knew my name.
"Oh - oh, that. That was just a... co-worker. She seems to have lost her memory."
James looked concerned. "Should we call someone? Her family, the hospital?"
"Oh, no," I said, barely containing the urge to rub my hands together in glee. "I'll take care of her."
James raised an eyebrow at that, saying, "You just sent her to go get your car and called her Jenkins."
"Well, yes," I admitted, "but she deserves it. She's an arrogant, supercillious wench. She thinks I'm an idiot. She'll get what's coming to her."
James' face turned stony. "I think it's you who'll get what's coming, Jen," he said coldly. "This is wrong."
I looked at him in surprise. "Oh, come on, Jim, I'm just going to have a bit of fun. Give her a taste of her own medicine. I'll find out a way to get her memories back soon, I promise!"
The bell over the door rang again as a flustered looking Marla re-entered the coffee shop. "The car is ready, miss," she said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.
I winked at James. "Very well then, Jenkins, let's be going. I have...uhm, important things to do."
Marla gave an awkward little bow as I exited the coffee shop, grinning evilly.
"Where to, then? As I said before, I don't remember anything. All I know right now is that I'm supposed to drive you somewhere."
Buckling myself into the passenger seat, I gave her own home address. I knew she lived alone, and her house was massive, unlike my shoddy apartment downtown. She had, apparently, retained the ability to use the GPS in a car and drive it, thank goodness, and in a few moments we were pulling into rush hour traffic.
"May I ask some questions?" she asked. She'd never been so polite to me before. Usually she just stared down her nose at me and asked if I wasn't supposed to be getting her coffee. Nevermind that I was supposed to be getting her coffee.
"Certainly, Jenkins," I said, trying to sound magnanimous. "Fire away."
"What's my name?"
At this point I started to feel kind of bad. Here was this woman, completely helpless, and she just trusted that I would tell her the truth. Maybe James was right; this was wrong. I shook that thought out of my head. "You are Marla Jenkins," I said, giving her the truth. "You work for me."
"Yes, I'd gathered that much," she said, a trace of annoyance in her voice. "What exactly do I do for you?"
"Well, you're my assisstant! You drive me places, get my coffee, and generally do what I need you to. Sometimes you do my laundry."
She nodded, though she didn't look pleased about it. "Do I have any family?" Her voice had such longing in it that I looked over at her. I'd never heard her talk about a family before. Her desk at work had no pictures, no one ever called for her, and she had never once mentioned so much as her mother's birthday. It wasn't even on the list of things I was supposed to remember for her.
"I - I don't think so," I said haltingly. My evil streak was beginning to wear off. I hardened my heart against my own misgivings, reminding myself of the year of torture and ill treatment I had endured at her hands. "You've never mentioned anyone."
"Hmmm," she mused. "I seem to have vague memories...a sibling, maybe? I don't remember. Ugh, this is so frustrating!" She looked sheepish at her outburst. "Sorry, miss. Uh, while we're on the subject of not remembering things, what's your name? I'm terribly sorry."
"I'm Jen," I said. "Jen Goldren."
She looked relieved. "Thank you, Miss Goldren, for your patience. I'm sure my memories will return. Perhaps I will be able to pick up some clues from my place of work. Do I spend most of my time at your house?"
"Yes, you spend quite a lot of time there," I managed.
"Well, perhaps I will see some pictures of my family!" she said excitedly. "Do I have a desk? Or a small personal area that I might have some effects of my own?"
I was starting to feel very uncomfortable now. "I think so," I said. "We're almost there." I'd never heard her talk in the way she was talking now. She sounded...human. I'd come to think of Marla as a monster, or at least some kind of inhuman robot, in the year that I'd worked for her. This voice had no hard, cold edge to it. It was a warm, melodious voice, full of hope.
We pulled up outside the large building, and Marla put the car in park. "Is this the place, Miss Goldren?" she asked.
"Yes, thank you, Jenkins," I replied, strutting towards the front door and trying to act as if I owned the place. In actual fact, I'd only been in here a handful of times to drop off dry cleaning. "You have the key," I told her.
Marla fumbled with a couple of keys before finding the right one. I knew that if our places were reversed, she'd be tapping her shoe on the pavement and looking at her watch, but I resisted the urge to do that. I could at least be a nicer boss than she was.
We entered the foyer, which was the size of my entire apartment, lavishly appointed with marble and dark wood. Marla looked around, awe-struck.
"I know this place," she said. "I - I remember."
I froze. Her memories were back. Oh, I was so fired.
"What do you remember?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
"I don't remember details, really, I just remember feelings. I remember feeling - um..." She looked embarrassed.
"Go on," I encouraged.
"Well, I remember feeling very lonely. I look around and - I know that I know this place, and that I spend a lot of time here, but it's like I've never been happy here."
Under my feeling of relief that I was not going to be fired, I felt a twinge of something like sympathy. Was this woman more than she appeared to be at work?
She continued looking around, and I walked over to the coat stand with as much arrogance and swagger as I could manage. "By all means, Jenkins, do come in," I said, trying to impersonate her voice. "Don't stand around."
"Yes, of course," she said, removing her shoes and folding her coat over her arm.
I remembered that I had told her I had 'important things' to do, but in reality I had no idea what to do with myself now. I ventured, "perhaps we could walk through the house together? I am happy to assist you," I said.
"You are?" Marla sounded confused. "But..."
I could see her trying not to tell me that I'd acted like the complete opposite of 'helpful' back at the coffee shop, and another bolt of guilt punched me in the stomach.
"Okay," she said hesitantly. I walked through to the living room, or parlour, or whatever fancy people call the room with couches and coffee tables in it.
I stepped into the middle of the room and did a little spin. "See anything familiar?" I asked, spreading my arms wide.
Marla's attention was drawn at once to a small picture frame, sitting face down on one of the coffee tables. "This looks..." she turned it over and gasped, sitting down on the couch hard.
I looked over her shoulder at a picture of Marla beside a handsome young man, two small children laughing in front of them. They were perhaps five and seven years old. I'd never seen these people before. Neither had I seen that expression on Marla's face. She looked...happy. Content. She wasn't sneering or looking down her nose. She was laughing, looking at the man beside her with obvious love.
She ran her fingers over the picture. "Mike," she managed in a strangled voice. "His name was Mike."
"Was?"
"Yes," she choked out. "I think - I think he died. I don't know how or when. I just have a feeling of sadness and loss. I - I can't -" she covered her face with her hands, setting the picture frame down beside her on the couch, and sobbed.
I looked around for some Kleenex or something when I saw a worn copy of a newspaper under a heavy decorative book. I lifted the book and looked at the paper. It was turned to one of the middle pages.
FATHER AND TWO CHILDREN DIE IN CAR WRECK, one of the articles read. The same picture as Marla had just been looking at was printed above a short article.
Michael Jenkins, 32, along with his two children, Johanna and Cameron, died this Thursday in a terrible car accident in the countryside south of the city, it read. The young family was on their way out to the family cottage for the long weekend when their sedan was struck head-on by a semi truck. The driver, whose name is protected by law, is being held under suspicions of driving under the influence. Michael, Johanna and Cameron are survived by Marla Jenkins, 31, who survived the wreck with major injuries, but Mrs Jenkins is expected to make a full recovery.
Shocked, I flipped frantically to the front of the paper. It was dated for eighteen months previous - six months before I'd been hired on to assist Marla.