Page 10 of Amnesia

“You have some scarring on your body. On your back and legs, some on your chest. The kind of scars that are consistent with regular abuse.” My stomach dropped, and he cleared his throat. “You were also very malnourished and dehydrated.”

I took a moment, focusing on my breathing. I admit it was a technique the head shrinker mentioned when I met with her that morning.When things get hard or seem impossible, take a deep breath.

“And now?” My voice was shaky.

He smiled as if he were relieved to say something positive. “Clean bill of health. Your body healed very well while you were in the coma. I don’t see anything to indicate you won’t make a full physical recovery.”

“And my memory?” I pushed.

He sighed. “The brain is a very complex thing. There is still so much we don’t know. The data on patients with fugue amnesia states that your memory could come rushing back all at once or piece by piece over time. There is also a chance you may not ever remember everything, more specifically, whatever it is that traumatized you.”

I wouldn’t ever know if I remembered everything. I would always wonder. Always in the back of my head would be the thought,What did I permanently forget?

“Where is my family?” I asked abruptly.

“I think you should get some rest, take things slow.” He stood from the rolling stool.

“I want to know,” I intoned.

“We haven’t been able to find your family. No one has come forward to say they know you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “What?”

“I know this must be very hard—”

I cut him off, slicing my hand through the air in front of me. “You don’t know,” I growled. “How could you possibly?”

“You’re right.” His voice was contrite. “I couldn’t.”

“Not one person in nearly three months has come looking for me? No one?”

His eyes slid toward the floor. He didn’t want me to see the pity they held. “The police are still working on it. They haven’t given up.”

Had I been a horrible person? Was that why no one came for me? Was everyone glad to see me go?

“I don’t understand.” I sank back against the pillows, defeated.

“Get some rest,” Dr. Beck said gently. “I’ll ask Dr. Kline to stop by before she leaves for the day.”

I turned away, looking at the blank wall. Another visit from the shrink. Should I be glad someone wanted to see me?

“Not one person,” I murmured, kind of shell-shocked. A real sting of pain sliced through my middle. It was the first intense feeling I’d had. I felt abandoned and not as strong as I’d convinced myself I was.

I had no one. No name, no thoughts, no people.

“There is someone,” the doctor said, almost as if he knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t help himself.

I turned to look at him. “Who?”

“The man who pulled you out of the lake. He comes every day to see you. He sat by your bed when you were in your coma. Sometimes he read to you.”

“He knows me?” Hope bloomed.

“No. He just…” The doctor’s words fell away. I could practically hear him picking and choosing his words. What was he not saying? Who was this man who sat by a stranger’s bedside on a daily basis?

“He came every day?” I asked, wanting to actually be sure.

“Every single day. We wouldn’t let him in here at first, so he sat in the waiting room.”

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