A Shadow of a Memory

There was a shadow in the corner, and Ethan had been refraining from painting that corner since he had started. His grip around the delicate wooden paintbrush tightened as he breathed in, and he brought it away from the canvas, surveying the work he had completed so far. He thought that it could be considered a masterpiece, if compared with Esme and Roland’s little boy’s finger-paintings.

He put the paintbrush down, breathing out, and he wouldn’t look at that corner, but even the floor he looked down at betrayed him, wooden floorboards placed haphazardly across a floor instead of the perfectly fine carpet that had been there only a few years ago. They were painted too, with the splashes of colours that had fallen haphazardly as she had gestured with that same paintbrush, as if she had to paint her meaning into the air, there had also been the time she’d experimented with splatter painting. Henry, their mutual friend, had been very thankful that there was no carpet to clean after that, he wasn’t too precious about his little mansion.

There was red paint on the floor. Ethan forced himself to breathe in, and to count. Count to four. In through the nose, and one. Why couldn’t he focus on the blue paint instead? Two, three. Like her hair, electric shock blue, she’d called it. Four. Now, he had to hold his breathe for five beats.

One, two. He always thought it made her look like a cartoon character. Three, four. A cute one, but still. Five. Lastly, breathe out for seven through the mouth.

One, two. He could focus on the green instead. Three, four. Like her uniform that she rarely wore to code. Five, six. For a special services agent, a Greenleaf, she had an unusual disregard for rules and regulations. Seven.

And repeat.

One, two. Breathing in, he picked up the paintbrush again, fingers rubbing against the white wood, rubbed smooth by years of use. Three four. He looked up from the floor, from the paint splatter. He sniffed and blamed the spring pollen, thing he’d know his eyes would be watering.

One, two. Holding his breath, he focused his gaze on that corner, on the shadow. Three, four. If he turned on the light, it wouldn’t be in shadow anymore, but he liked the moonlight. Five. It kept things hidden that needed to be so.

One, two. Breathing out, slowly, through his mouth. He could hear her now, calling him something ridiculous and turning the light on whether he wanted her to or not. Three, four. He looked to the light switch and reached out with his hand and his mind. Five, six. Ever since that night, he hadn’t used his abilities. They hadn’t saved her, what use were they, if he couldn’t save her with them? Seven. His hand dropped, he retreated back into his mind.

The light turned on, and the shadow was gone. Reflexively, Ethan looked away, and towards the door, his breathing was disrupted now, and still faster than he would like. He dropped the paintbrush and reached out to grab it. While he would usually be met with her sky-blue hoodie on the back of the door, the door had been opened, and it was her friend silhouetted there, his sister. Adopted.

“Tessa.” He stated, as if he had it all together. His voice was unwavering, emotionless as always. His students would beg to differ, his voice was an emotion in itself, the very manifestation of grumpiness.

“Ethan.” She said back, in what would have been the same tone all those years ago, but her life here had softened her. He met her heterochromic eyes, the green and blue ones that Tessa hated along with her auburn hair that fell straight as the needles of a pine tree. He followed her gaze down, to the paintbrush, that was hovering about a foot from the haphazard floor, over a particularly loud splash of neon blue. It was then he noticed the tendril of his mind that had extended without his permission, that had forced his powers to reach out and to save every part of her that remained, even if it was just her paintbrush. He reached down and plucked it from the air, holding it with his actual hand, before angling his painting away, so that Tessa wouldn’t be able to see it.

“What are you doing?” He asked her. She shrugged.

“I was hijacking Henry’s power-,”

“You were reading my mind?” Ethan found himself at the receiving end of her stone-cold glare, one she had mastered from him. He sent it straight back. Neither had any effect.

“I wanted to talk to Henry without any students eavesdropping,” Ethan made a disgruntled noise. Henry was his friend, that was true, but Tessa was his sister, and he wasn’t happy with how fond of each other those two were, he preferred the days Tessa couldn’t stand Henry, “and immediately got hit by a shockwave of you being a self-sabotaging misery-guts.” At least he could count on Tessa to be blunt. “You can’t hide forever, Ethan.”

“You can’t begin to understand what it’s like,” He snapped, even though he found he couldn’t look at her anymore, so he looked back at the paintbrush, as he rolled it between his fingers, “I wish I could forget it all.”

“No, you don’t.” She was still stood in the doorway, refusing to come in without being invited.

“How would you know?” Ethan regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He really couldn’t look at her now, but even without looking he could tell she was looking at that corner, no powers were needed, he just knew his sister.

She didn’t say anything, not until Ethan looked at her properly, and saw her head tilted to the side, and the raised eyebrow, and the look in her eyes that spoke for her.

“Let me rephrase,” She said, voice as hard as her gaze, “As someone who has had the misfortune to have that wish granted, and the fortune to revoke it after far too long, I’d rather live with the pain.” He thought she was going to leave, as he felt that strange blanketing feeling that she caused whenever she hijacked his powers. “Keira wouldn’t want to be forgotten. And she doesn’t deserve to be.”

The door slammed shut without Tessa raising a finger, and the blanketing feeling left, all traces of Tessa even being there had gone except for the light staying on.

“No,” He said to himself, quietly, “No, she doesn’t,”

He looked to the corner, to the little glass cabinet that Keira had always kept her treasured belongings in, to save them from the paint. There were only two things in there now. A necklace of silver and blue that she had never taken off, and in surrounded by the necklace was a box, open to the world to see the ring inside. He’d never been able to get rid of the blood that tainted them both. He looked down at the paintbrush, and then to his painting.

“My love, you deserve to be remembered.”