The Unforgotten

She willed herself forward, squeezing through the burly men blocking the pathway and followed the signs to the baggage claim. Stopping at the restroom, she checked her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands. She had spent considerable time that morning straightening her nearly black hair. Amazingly, it was still in place. She touched up her makeup, coating her lips with lip balm before steeling herself for the trek to retrieve her bags. 
She exited the bathroom and trudged forward, her eyes glued to the floor, sheer willpower giving her the momentum she needed to proceed. She’d taken only three steps when a man enveloped her in a fierce hug. 
Stunned, her heart beat rapidly, threatening to leap from her chest as she tried to process what was happening. He must think I’m someone else. 
“Boy are you a sight for sore eyes, Shea,” she heard whispered softly against her ear, the voice unrecognizable. 
So much for that theory! 
After what seemed like an eternity, the man stepped back slightly, giving Shea an opportunity to see his face. The air rushed from her lungs as she took in the olive green irises. Flecks of gold still sparkled in his eyes. The Irish accent she had once known was now completely gone. The prominent freckles that had dotted his face were nearly imperceptible. His vibrant red hair was now a deep chestnut brown. 
Shock washed over her as the improbability of the situation registered with her brain. 
It couldn’t be him! It simply wasn’t possible. He’d vanished ten years ago. He was dead. 
Still, someone that looked very much like him was standing in front of her. “Ian?” 
Immediately, his lips turned up at the corners, a warm smile gracing his face. 
Resentment, hurt and anger must have graced hers because his smile disappeared just as quickly. Unable to meet his poignant gaze any longer, she allowed her eyes to drift from his. The moment she took in the chaos around her, she knew that had been a mistake. 
Time seemed to slow as the waves of people tossed her to and fro, elbows landing blows against her back, arms grazing her own as people passed, baggage jostling her from side to side. Everywhere she looked she saw people – hundreds of strangers, none nearly as frightening as the ghost in front of her. 
Complete panic set in. Her breathing became labored and shallow. The room began to spin before fading to black. 

When Shea opened her eyes everything was blurry. She blinked, trying to focus her vision. She propped herself up on one arm and looked around. A man she didn’t recognize was squatting next to her, apparently tending to her. He said something to her. She stared blankly at him. What was that, German? 
Right, I was just getting off the plane, she recalled. 
A man behind him replied. They were apparently talking about her. She tried to sit up. The room began to spin again. She dropped her head back to . . . what was that anyway, she thought feeling the bulk under her? A coat, she guessed. 
“My bag,” she said. The man shook his head. Whoever was behind him handed her the large black carry-on she had with her when she got off the plane. She propped herself up on one elbow and dug through the bag. She pulled out a blood sugar monitor. The man squatting next to her, a doctor apparently, nodded and took the kit from her, working to get a reading. She dropped her head back and waited. The doctor turned to whoever was behind him and spoke again in German. 
She was surprised that her sugar levels had gotten so out of whack. She had eaten something not very long ago, cautious of her hypoglycemic state. The doctor stood and stepped aside revealing the person he had been talking to a moment earlier. 
Shea thought it had been a dream. 
She started to sit up, causing the doctor to rush back to her side, apparently afraid she would pass out again. 
Shea stared at the man in the shadows. The lack of red hair made him hard to recognize. The face looked the same, slightly older, maybe. But it was the same chiseled jaw line, wasn’t it? 
The doctor spoke again to him. She watched them communicate, wondering what they were saying. 
She found that she didn’t really care. All she could think about was whether or not it was really him? When he stepped closer, into better lighting, Shea saw them. His olive green eyes, dotted with flecks of gold. It was unmistakable. Ian McDowell was standing in front of her. 
Ian shook the doctor’s hand, thanking him before he walked away. Ian squatted down in front of her, causing her to back away slightly. 
Amused, Ian said, “You gave us a scare, Shea. Are you feeling okay?” 
Shea stared at him, not knowing what to say. His accent was gone. His red hair was gone. His freckles were nearly gone. But, he wasn’t. 
“Shea?” He asked. “Can you stand?” 
He reached his hand out to hers. She pushed it away. She packed up her test kit and stuffed it into her bag. She leaned on the end of the row of chairs she was sitting on and attempted to stand. She swayed, landing both of Ian’s under her elbows to steady her. 
“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” He smiled, less than a foot separating them. 
She shrugged out of his arms and moved towards the exit for baggage claim. 
Ian grabbed her arm, stopping her. She jerked her arm out of his hand, pulling away. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She glared at him, daring him to push her further. He pointed behind her. She turned and saw her bags sitting beside the chairs. She huffed and moved to get them. 
“I have strict instructions from the doctor that you are to eat immediately.” Shea looked at him contemptuously. She wasn’t amused. “I gave him my word,” Ian said, as if she was required to go because he gave his word. “You’ll not make me out to be a liar, I hope,” Ian added. 
“You don’t need my help for that,” Shea seethed.