And so, we reach the end of Day One. My fingers are so frozen I’m making typos every other word, but other than that I’m happy. Unforget is coming along splendidly, though I was a little worried at the starting gate because I realized I had no idea how to begin it! I knew how I wanted to do it, but carrying through was something else entirely. However, it worked – and I’m happy to say Cayne became the proper semipsycho he is and already killed two officials who were after him. He’s such a sweetie. Moon has already come into play, with her superb acting skills and razor-sharp sense of sarcasm, and my wordcount is –
3,445! I finished the first chapter and began chapter two, but I’m only sending a chapter a day (unless I get two full chapters finished in one day) so my fantastic readers will not be left in the middle of “And then he turned and unleashed a piercing scream because-”
Here’s a snippet of what I worked on all day.
By the front door were two bottles he recognized. They were six inches tall and six inches around, with self-sealing screw-on lids. They were empty.
He rose and Moon turned as the gun clicked, sliding into semi-automatic mode. “Where did you get those.” He did not put it as a question, but a demand.
Moon dragged her eyes away from his face to glance at the bottles. “They’re just memory jars—”
“I know what they are!” Cayne shouted. His hand shook, but she was at point-blank range. “Where did you get them?”
He took a step toward her and she shrank back, her breathing quick and audible. “They aren’t mine! I just collect them!”
“Malachi!” Tears glossed her eyes and one rolled down her face. “Please don’t shoot me.”
Malachi. The name rang familiar. Memory jars, Malachi…Yes. He had worked for Malachi before. “Malachi El?”
She nodded, her face a grimace of desperation. “I don’t do anything except give him the jars,” she told him. Her voice was pleading. “He pays me for them, but I don’t have anything to do with the memories.”
“Take me to him.” Cayne started to turn, but Moon made him stop.
“I don’t know where he lives!”
“Take me to his den, then.”
She was frightened of him, that much was obvious. That was why it interested him when she asked, “Why do you want to see him?”
“No! I have to know! He’ll kill me if I take the wrong person there!” More tears tracked down her cheeks. She was scared, and something about her expression – her quivering lips, her wet, gray eyes – stopped his finger on the trigger.
“I need you to take me there.” He enunciated every word hard and to the point.
She gathered her threadbare sweater around her skinny body. “Why?”
Her eyes were still full of tears, but she rolled then anyway. “Why else would you be going to a memory den? But what sort of memories, maybe I can help. Maybe we don’t have to talk to him.”
What sort of memories?
He felt a dead smile turn his mouth. “Mine. I need to get my memories.”
And as a parting whatchamacallit – I drew Vey last night! I was IMMENSELY pleased with how it turned out. I tried to draw him the day before and somehow he ended up looking like Jaden Smith, which is not at all how a Japanese visual kei rocker should look, if you ask me. So anyhow – Vey!