Don't Remember Me

Trigger warning: violence

Had he written with a quill; the ink would have splattered. Another novel was almost finished. Another masterpiece, he reckoned. Robert had been a crime author for as long as he could remember. Although, that’s not saying much. Seven years ago, he was in an accident claiming his memory. Waking up from a coma, he remembered nothing. Not even his name. The doctors had given him a piece of paper, a pen, and instructions to write down anything that came to mind. Anything he could remember from his past. But nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. And so, he wrote nothing. Then, after a month of his release, he felt a consuming need to write. And for seven years, he didn’t stop. Sadly, the things that came to mind were not helpful to untangle his past. They were stories. Short stories. About a detective ever chasing his villains. Well, more like villain, singular. A villain so fleeting, his hero could never defeat him. A psychiatrist told Robert all about how his stories were analogies of his own wish to find and unravel his past. Robert, however, couldn’t quite relate. He felt no need to uncover his past, because his present just got interesting. The stories he thought out were interesting. Very interesting. He named his detective Robert, and figured it was such a nice name, he decided to name himself after his own character. After all, he had no proper name after his accident.

After a while, his short stories became so detailed, they made out novels. He felt they were so interesting, he wanted to publish one to see if others felt the same. As an unidentifiable man, he had already gained some publicity in the papers, and when the news hit that the man without an identity had written a crime book, people bought it. And apparently, they loved it. Before the first year as an author was over, Robert had sold enough of his book to win prizes. Although he only sold one of his novels that year, he had written two more back-to-back, ready to hit the crowd. He tapped away on a laptop as his storylines came to him, drinking heaps of black coffee, and only eating microwavable foods or take outs, leaving more time for writing. His newly released novel was about how Detective Robert Ackroyd ended up with a lead on his long-time target, a serial killer Robert the author named Goldilocks Strangler, while chasing petty crooks. The two other books would see Ackroyd discover some of the bodies left behind by the allusive murderer, and how the detective would struggle to keep up with the shadow of the Goldilocks Strangler. Robert the author felt he was on a roll, and that nothing could stop him.

Nothing, apart from one thing, that is. The accident Robert was involved in, took place during a New Year’s Eve event, and even though he remembered absolutely nothing of it, the accident had installed the fear of fireworks and sparklers in him. Every New Year’s Eve, Robert turned down several larger scaled parties in order to stay in. “In order to write another best seller”, he told people. The real reason of course being his gripping fear of the large display of lights combined with noises of all sorts. People around him had grown accustomed to Robert locking himself in around New Year’s. They found the whole thing sad, considering how he was quite sociable every other day of the year – the few hours he wasn’t writing. Of course, they all knew about his accident, and they tried to be understanding. So one day a year, Robert didn’t write. Indeed, Robert wrote about the most unnerving scenarios in his stories and novels, and managed to spook and shock the masses on paper, but only ever truly felt fear himself once a year. But on New Year’s Eve marking the seventh year as an author, Robert would not lock himself up in his flat, being alone with his one and only fear. Nor would he write. He had agreed to attend a Party held by his book publishers. Everyone was looking forward to it, everyone – except for Robert. He would be dreading it, had it not been for Elisabet; a new, Swedish editor at the publishing firm. She made the event bearable. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was good enough to land a younger lady like Elisabet, but Robert gained confidence after a few glances at his bookshelf, seeing all his highly praised crime novels. He thought about last year’s most popular novel, about how Detective Robert Ackroyd found himself watched by the Goldilocks Strangler, closing in on the serial killer, only to have the strangler kill his fiancé in the next novel. Robert the author reckoned it would be a while until Robert the detective would find, unmask and overpower his villain, but he vowed that he himself would not suffer the same curse his detective did. He could conquer anything. Even asking a girl ten years younger than himself out on a date.

Mere hours away from the party on the seventh year, Robert was looking rather handsome. He was almost ready, and yet; he kept writing on his next novel. He had to, he pictured a scene so clearly. His previous novels had been creepy, but this one would be macabre. This one would see Detective Robert Ackroyd falling into a downward spiral after the murder of his fiancé, ending up on drugs giving him horrible hallucinations. This would in turn connect the detective and the serial killer he was trying to hunt down, with the novel’s climax including a hallucination in which Robert the detective sees the grotesque murders from the Goldilocks Strangler’s point of view. As the details of his novel digitally splattered across the paper, Robert the author couldn’t help but wonder how one person could be so full of inspiration. When he had finished a paragraph involving head-bashing, sexual assault and strangling, to name a few, he felt himself stopping cold. He read out what he had just written down, and was disgusted. This was not the first time he was put off by what he had written in his novels, it happened quite often. But this time something felt different. He felt weird inside. Like a small boy guilty of stealing sweets, but at the same time like a teenage boy who had just seen a smut film for the first time. Robert had never been turned on by his own work before, but his last paragraph came close. He felt a desire to keep on writing, to keep holding on to the new feeling his writing gave him, when an excruciating sound suddenly resounded in his flat, and filled it with bright, flaming colours. Fireworks. He felt his heart beating hard and fast against his chest. He threw himself up from his desk, standing perfectly still for a second, until another bang filled the room, setting everything momentarily on fire. In pure fear, Robert ran towards the bathroom, as if he would be safer there. But he never got that far. He stopped by his book case, as if he had hit an invisible force, causing him to freeze. He glanced over his work. He immediately felt calmed. Detective Robert wasn’t afraid of fireworks. So Robert the author shouldn’t be either, he figured. He reached for a book. Another bright and colourful flash rushed through the flat and through his eardrums, and his arm stopped mid-reach. But as soon as the room went quiet, he continued to grab a book. He chose the one where Detective Robert Ackroyd met his fiancé. The chapters involving their growing romance always cheered the author up. Robert knew which chapter was the most detailed, and quickly found it. As it happens, the same chapter mirrored the romance between the detective and his flirt by depicting the Goldilocks Strangler’s meeting with one of his blonde victims. The chapter resulted in Ackroyd grabbing his future fiancé by her face, interlocking in a kiss, all while the strangler grabbed his newest victim by her neck, interlocking eyes as her life ended. Another piece of firework went off, and this time, Robert felt the floor move. The blast sent shock waves through his body. The shake gripped tight around his heart. The light flash lit the flat up again – only this time, it didn’t darken right away. Instead, Robert saw something else flash before him. Characters. They were only there for a second, but they were clear as day. Wow. Never before had his inspiration hit him this hard. He quickly put his book back in the case, and half ran – half glided towards his laptop to write what he had seen. But as he was typing, he glanced towards the time. He would be late if he didn’t choose to leave over writing.

He decided not to drink. He wanted to stay sharp and alert, in order to best talk to Elisabet, and in order to remember any flashes of inspiration, should they manifest during the night. The fireworks were apparently on a temporary halt, of which Robert was grateful. He didn’t want Elisabet to see him scared. Unfortunately, as Robert was settling in at the party, another flash of light filled the room, shaking him to the core with its sound. Robert felt the firework as “bigger and badder” closer to the city centre. Another scene accompanied the flashes. This time, he not only saw it, but felt it. Smelled it. Characters, and actions. Detective Robert, and a girl he was smiling at in some club. She smiled back at him from across the room. The girl resembled what the detective’s fiancé had looked like, with blonde, medium length hair, and bright, blue eyes. She smiled, and had dimples. From the detective’s point of view, he could see her so clearly. Suddenly, Robert the author realised his flash of inspiration had faded, and he was no longer looking at a fictional character, but a very real one. Elisabet was standing in the middle of a crowd, looking right at him. Smiling. It was almost chilling. She looked so similar to the girl in his vision. She had big, blue eyes with long lashes, and her hair was blonde, down to her shoulders. The only difference was her bangs. The smile was the same. Her lips, the same. Robert swallowed, and gave her a crooked smile in order to appear interested, yet cool. It worked. The crowd appeared as to split in the middle as she was making her way over towards Robert. If Robert were to write about this moment, he would have described it as happening in slow motion. Her graceful yet bouncy walk, her mature stance and attitude, and her focused look getting closer. Robert felt his heart slow down, or maybe skipping beats. Another piece of firework exploded outside, causing everything inside to appear inverted. Another vision manifested before Robert. The girl from the last vision was back. She was closer, mirroring Elisabet. The flashes of visions worked like a light switch controlled by the fireworks. The vision faded as the flash of light darkened. Again, it was Elisabet approaching Robert the author, rather than a random girl approaching Robert the detective. Before Robert could enjoy the view from reality, however, another flash of light made a vision from his imagination appear. Only this time, it was different. The random girl was there, but she had stopped moving. And she had stopped smiling. She was standing before the detective all cold and stoic. Elisabet appeared before the author again for a second before another image of the detective and the random girl manifested. Again, the girl had changed. She was moving, but not towards the detective. She was turning, running away. Her facial expression had changed drastically. Her faced appeared twisted. As if in fear. Elisabet again. She was still approaching the author. She smiled. Her red lipstick struck Robert. Light flash. The random girl had managed to put some distance between the detective and herself. She kept looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes met the detective’s eyes. Her face expressed horror. The red blood covering the lower half of her face struck Robert. She screamed. It was like a siren. Loud and penetrating. Abruptly, it was cut short by the voice of Elisabet saying hi. Robert snapped out of what he could only compare to a trance.

Robert had no idea how, but Elisabet had somehow talked him into leaving the party to watch the fireworks at midnight from the streets. For now, no firework went off. For now, it was just him and this beautiful girl. No noise, no light glimpses, no visions for his next book. There were other people outside, of course, but Robert paid no attention to them. He was engulfed in Elisabet’s glow. She smiled brighter than any sparkler or firework ever could. She was just his type. Kind smile, slender and elegant, a hopeful glance with a touch of determination, and an optimistic view of the world. Her light, natural hair and bright eyes helped, naturally. Whoever Robert had been before his accident, he had to have liked this type of girls, Robert thought. Standing close to Elisabet, he felt as if he had been with women like this all his life. The two of them talked about things without importance for what felt like hours. As midnight threatened to arrive, the first piece of firework Robert was about to experience outside, went off. He was clearly spooked, and the crowd around them suddenly seemed hard to ignore. Elisabet must have picked up on how bothered he got, because she grabbed Robert by the arm, and asked if he was alright. She hadn’t picked up on how Robert’s view had temporarily shifted into a fraction of his imagination. If she had, the night might have ended different for her. Robert shook his newest vision off, and could see Elisabet clearly again. This time, he had felt the terror which haunted the girl in his visions. He was dizzy from the shift in emotions between the two states of mind. He appreciated the inspiration speaking to him so visually, but he hated how it stole seconds from his reality. Elisabet convinced Robert to ditch the crowd, and noted how it would be safer to watch the fireworks from a more desolated alley.

Amazingly, the alleyway shut out most of the noises from the crowd and the fireworks, and it felt like an intimate place for just the two of them. Robert was still breathing heavily, but at least he saw nothing but Elisabet; his reality. They were standing close. He couldn’t help but stare at her. She was stunning. Robert looked deep into her eyes, then he gazed at her lips, before returning to her eyes. When he stared at her lips for a second time, Elisabet leaned in, and kissed him. Robert had problems catching his breath, he felt his lungs pumping hard. Or was it his blood pumping hard? He didn’t want it to end, so he grabbed her face and held on to her. Elisabet reciprocated, putting her arms around him. Nothing could feel better, Robert thought. At that moment, he felt truly happy. A wave of explosions and light flashes of all colours disturbed his peace. An intense feeling of dread instantly spread all across Roberts body. Another vision came before him. Just like in his reality, he was holding a girl. But contrasting his reality, he had his hands wrapped around the blonde’s neck, forcing his fingers tighter into her throat. Never before had Robert been this scared. No firework could ever awake this feeling in him. Robert forced his eyes more shut, and when he opened them, the horrifying vision was gone. But his reality, turned out to be just as spine-chilling. Robert found himself holding Elisabet by her neck. He felt his hands squeezing tighter and tighter. Elisabet’s face appeared contorted in pain and in fear. Somehow, Robert’s reality had caught up with his visions. Or was it the other way around? He felt a sense of fright and nausea. Or was it excitement? It took him a couple of seconds to react. Robert felt himself wanting to let go, but his body refused to obey right away. A terrifying thought struck him. When he finally managed to let go, Elisabet fell to the ground.

Robert watched as Elisabet ran away. She survived. She moved to a different country to start her life over. But the spark in her eyes, which Robert had found so attractive, had died out. She would no longer be the same girl. At first, Robert wanted to run after her. But he stopped himself when he thought about what could happen when he caught her. The thought that struck Robert as he was holding Elisabet by her neck, would haunt him for the rest of his life. The idea that his visions had been glimpses of memory coming back to him, rather than being fractions of his imagination, scared Robert more than any of his books had ever scared his readers. Robert only wrote one last novel after this. He retired Robert the detective, by making Detective Robert Ackroyd realise that the Goldilocks Strangler and himself were in fact, one and the same person. And by retiring Robert the detective, Robert also retired his author career. His final book bombed. But Robert had found someone new to actively scare until the day he died. Although he wanted to, he could never stop thinking about who he had been in his past.