#regron

Darkness had long since settled over the sky and a bitter chill was rising up from the ground, seeping into Martin’s bones.

Yet the sound of that voice sparked heat inside of him. A flicker of warmth without the recognition of why.

“Oh God, you’re awake. I didn’t think you would wake up this fast. I thought you would have been able to sleep better, after everything.”

She crouched in front of Martin before he could even think to back away. Nothing about her appearance was familiar, but her voice continued to haunt him in a way that felt similar to déjà vu.

“Say something, Ron,” she begged. Her expression bordered on childish. Far too guilt-ridden to make Martin feel scared.

“My name isn’t Ron,” Martin whispered. He could see his words warming the air between them. Part of him expected the woman to disappear once the steam touched her face.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “You’re not Ron.”

As she reached out to touch him, Martin flinched away, and tears filled her eyes instantly. She bowed her head away from him. There was a sharp inhale of breath before her shoulders began to tremble.

“You’re not Ron anymore.”

“Anymore?” Martin echoed. “Lady, I don’t know who you are and I don’t think you know who I am, either. This has to be a mistake. Cut me loose and we can figure this out.”

But her shoulders shook harder and she began to shake her head. On her hands and knees, she crawled closer to him. It seemed impossible for her to look any more hurt as he tried again to move away from her reach.

“Are you sure you don’t remember? Staedtler, are you sure?”

All Martin could do was stare. How familiar her voice sounded. The one he heard in his dreams, telling him that he was brave, that he deserved a chance for a new life, that he would find his happiness one day.

The voice that told him she missed him.

“You remember,” the woman said. Her eyes had narrowed. She was studying him too closely to give into her previous emotions.

“I don’t remember you,” Martin snapped, but this time no woeful expression altered her features in response.

“But you remember something. Tell me.”

Martin struggled to sit up. His back pressed against a tree. He rubbed the rope around his wrist against the bark of it, but nothing happened.

“It’s the middle of the night and the temperature is dropping. We don’t have time for this,” he grumbled.

“I’ll stay out here until the sun comes up,” the woman countered. She sounded strong but there was desperation lacing her words. “Just try to remember.”

Martin stared at her. Perhaps she was getting in his head, because he was actually waiting for her features to take shape in his mind, for her name to materialize on his lips.

A beat passed. Nothing came to mind.

“You’re deranged and you need help,” Martin spat.

Incredulously, she started to smile. The shadows beneath her eyes grew darker but the feverish glint in her gaze glowed brighter. She began to laugh. The heel of her hand came up against her forehead, where she rubbed and pressed.

“I know. I know! You think I’m not aware of that, Ron? This was barely an idea before I set it into motion. I’m losing it.”

She sighed and cradled her elbows in her hands. The action wasn’t meant to warm her. It betrayed her guilt.

“I couldn’t even sit still long enough to think this through," came her dejected voice. "I just can't forget you no matter how hard I try. Isn't that ironic? You're here and I'm the one trying to forget.”

The woman wasn’t making sense, but Martin sensed that she was doubting herself enough for him to take over. He sat up a little taller, trying to put on a sympathetic face. Now, though, she was only looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“I miss you, Ron. I know if it were possible, you’d miss me, too.”

Martin couldn’t conceal the way her words shot through him like a crack of thunder. He couldn’t hide the realization in his gasp nor the urge to lean closer to her.

“No,” he all but hissed before she could say anything else. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but you’re not… not real. This isn’t real. Any minute I’m going to wake up.”

Martin was warm in his bed and sound asleep under blankets. He was probably dreaming so hard that he was sleeptalking and twitching.

“But until then, you’re stuck here with me, listening to my voice,” the woman said.

Martin glared at her without any real contempt.

“You remember my voice.”

After a long moment, he nodded. The woman’s expression softened. She looked behind herself, scanning the surroundings. When Martin copied her, he realized that they were barely beyond the property of his home. There was his house up ahead. He looked at the woman again. How she had been strong enough to get him this far, Martin didn’t know.

“Maybe that’s enough for me,” she said softly enough for Martin to know that she wasn’t talking to him. “Because you’re free. I can’t chain you to what you used to be. I can’t do that to you.”

“What?” Martin whispered. He tried to match her tone of voice, tried to lull her into explaining herself to him, but she continued to tune him out.

“I’m not trying hard enough,” she was whispering. “But I can’t tamper with you any more. You’ll meet her soon. You’ll be happy again soon. Then, as long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”

The glint in her eyes had faded when she looked back at Martin. Her gaze roamed over him, taking him in the exact same way he was searching her, scouring his mind for clues as to why she was here. Nothing came, though, and by the time Martin’s eyes reached hers, she was smiling at him in a way that told him the end was near.

“You’ll be happy again soon, Martin. And then, I guess, so will I.”

Before he could ask her anything, the woman raised a device to his head and aimed with careful precision. Martin closed his eyes on instinct.

There was a strange sound and then he realized that his chance had passed. He should have kept his eyes open. He should have looked at her one last time. He should have asked what her name was, or who she was, or who he was to her.

But Martin lost consciousness and did not regain it until the next morning, when her voice still echoed between his ears. Unlike other mornings, though, this time the vision of her was fresh in his mind.

Martin would try to remember. It was always in vain, with hollow results, but he would keep trying to remember.