“Where are the caves?”
Ibrahim laughed again. “It’s Göreme! There are caves everywhere. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to a hospital?”
“No.” Malachi sat up, spying something out of the corner of his eye that looked familiar. It was a restaurant with a balcony. Red umbrellas shaded the tables. There was something about the balcony… “No, I just realized where I am.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded, reaching for the door handle, suddenly eager to explore. He halted when Ibrahim’s arm shot out.
“Wait.” The old man reached for his wallet. “I like you. Take a little money, just so I’m not so worried, eh?”
“I don’t—”
“Please, take it.” He held out some notes. “I’ll give you my card. If you want, you’ll pay me back when you find your people. But Allah would not be pleased if I sent you away with nothing. Take enough to be safe for a day or two, okay? And you’ll have my phone number, too.”
Touched by the man’s generosity, Malachi smiled. “You are a good man, Ibrahim. And you tell very good jokes, even though I didn’t understand all of them.”
Ibrahim roared with laughter. “Well, you have brain damage! What can I expect?”
A few minutes later, Malachi waved as Ibrahim drove down the road, then he turned and searched for the restaurant. He walked slowly, hoping that, somehow, things would start to make sense. As he passed the restaurant, he caught the edge of a sign for a rug shop and knew he’d walked by it before.
She swung her arms as she walked, and Malachi let his brush against her. Just the brush of contact. Just so she knew…
He turned right, then right again at a cafe with a cracked window.
She stopped, her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she caught the tenor of his thoughts. Embarrassment, but desire, too. He knew she wanted him…
Up the hill he climbed, until he’d left the shops behind and the streets were filled with stone houses. A striped cat walked along the top of a wall, following him as he searched for clues. At each intersection, he’d see something.
An orange tree that tilted to one side.
A wall with colorful graffiti no one cared to paint over.
An abandoned cupboard with grass growing through the bottom.
Each turn led him up the hill and farther away from the town center, but with each step, his sense of familiarity grew.
She was chatting about something with a dark-haired man. Laughing at some joke he wasn’t a part of. He was irritated by their ease together.
At the end of the road, a house rose into the cliffs. Or, he should say, a group of houses. There were buildings stacked at the base and rooms carved into the cliffs with stairs leading up. A wall surrounded the old compound, but no graffiti covered it. Trees grew over the walls and he could hear voices whispering within. He didn’t recognize the language.
Here.
She was here. She had to be.
Malachi stepped up to the large wooden door in the wall and lifted the knocker, banging it down as the voices beyond the wall stopped. There were shuffling steps, then an old man opened the gate.
“Yes? How can I—sweet heaven!”
Malachi stood speechless as the old man’s face paled. His eyes were like saucers.
“Hello?”
“It can’t be…,” the man breathed out.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I… I think I—”
“You’re dead.” The man stepped back, and fear rose in his eyes. “You’re dead.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“What are you?”
“What?” Fear twisted Malachi’s heart. Perhaps he’d been wrong to come here.
The old man’s hands shook. “You wear the face of a dead man.”
“I don’t understand—”
“What are you?”
Anger rose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not dead, obviously. I just don’t remember—”
“Malachi?” The awestruck voice came from behind the old man.
Malachi raised his eyes to see the dark-haired man he’d seen in his memories. “I remember you.”
The other man’s eyes were also filled with fear. But it was a fear mixed with hope. “They said you were dead.”
“Who did? I don’t know what’s going on. Who—”
“It can’t be.” The dark-haired man stepped forward, his arm raised. He reached for Malachi, confusion written wide on his face. “They saw you die. Your dust rose. She felt your loss…” The man’s fingers touched Malachi’s shoulder and gripped. “You’re real. How are you real?”
A thick emotion filled his throat, and his eyes burned. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I need to find her.”
Another voice rose in a shout. “No!” The sound of running steps, then a tall blond man stood in front of him, mouth gaping. “No, I saw you die.”
“Maxim,” the dark-haired one said. “Are you sure?”
“How can you even ask me that?” he cried. “We all saw him die, Rhys. You saw her grieve. This is something… This is not our brother!”
She grieved… For him? Fear and shock and anger wrestled within him. Malachi said, “I don’t know who your brother is, I just need to find her. Where is she?”