Page 110 of Amnesty

“Amnesia.” He cautioned, putting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Do not touch her. And if she does anything at all, leave this room immediately.”

Even though I wasn’t facing him, I smiled. My hand covered his. “I care about you, too, Dr. Beck.”

He withdrew his hand. His voice was gruff. “Five minutes.”

I didn’t waste any time, but let myself right in. The room was quiet, sterile, and dim. Memories of how my own room looked when I first woke from my coma came flooding back to me. I remembered how confused I’d been. How weak, mentally and physically.

I was stronger now, on both accounts, but I knew I still had a long way to go. This was a step in the right direction, though, facing my demons head on.

Widow West was lying on her back in the generic hospital bed. Her thin frame was covered with a hospital gown, and standard-issue blankets were pulled up to her waist. There was an IV in the back of her hand, but otherwise, there were no other machines. Her eyes were still open, just like the last time I saw her. They were glazed over, kind of milky. Utterly creepy.

I expected them to follow me as I passed by the end of her bed and moved around to the other side.

They didn’t. They remained fixed, staring ahead and slightly up at the ceiling.

Her long gray hair was down around her shoulders. It was thick and coarse-looking, her skin pale, but all the bruises from before were healed.

She might seem almost peaceful if not for the way her eyes appeared. If not for the way her lips seemed permanently twisted in a painful grimace.

There were no flowers in this room. No cards or get-well balloons. The walls were all bare, the room cold and plain. Not even the noise from the TV was there to fill the void.

What was it like?

To be lost in your own head. Lonely day in and day out. Was it preferable to what she lived before, or was it merely a defense mechanism just like my amnesia?

I didn’t want to admit it. I hated to acknowledge it, but Widow West and I had some things in common. I wondered if maybe we once shared the same kind of bond I had with Sadie.

“It’s me,” I said, quietly dragging a chair up to the side of the bed. “Amnesia.”

It was disconcerting to speak and not know if you were heard. To not be acknowledged at all. But I pushed it back and spoke anyway. Pretending I was indeed being heard.

“It’s been a while since I was here,” I told her. “I know we don’t really like each other much.”

No point in lying, right?

“Truth is I’m not mad at you anymore. I had been, you know. So angry. You tried to kidnap me, knocked out Eddie. Stalked me. You, ah, told me once you wished I’d died.”

Nothing. Silence.

I swallowed.

“I understand.” I leaned back and decided just to pour it all out. Not for her, but for me. “You were probably in a hard position. Confused and trapped just like me. Just like Sadie. I know he hurt you, too. The doctors told me. I saw the bruises. I remember that night when you said if you didn’t do what he wanted, he would punish you.” I paused a second, sweeping my eyes over her gaunt face. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not the one who hurt you that way, but I’m still so, so sorry. I only remember a little, and that alone is enough. I wouldn’t wish what happened to us on anyone, not even you. What you did, what I did… even what Sadie did. It was survival, wasn’t it? And we did survive. All three of us.”

A nurse went by the window, down the hall. I folded my hands in my lap.

“I guess that makes us sort of bonded. Not really friends, because I think we’re past that kind of relationship. In the way we’re the only ones who can ever really understand what he did to us.

“He’s missing, by the way.Him.The man who hurt us. I still can’t remember anything about him. His face. His name. I know he hurt me.” I choked back the memory. My voice was slightly shaky when I went on. “I know he, um, raped me. Sadie said I was her replacement when he thought she was going to die. There was this woman. She would come down into the ground sometimes. She would go to where Sadie lay and tend to her. Sometimes I heard her crying. That was you, wasn’t it?” I stared down at my hands, which were now tightly clasped together. “You cared about us, even though you helped him.”

I sat forward, emotion making it impossible to sit still. “I just don’t understand! I don’t understand why you helped him. Where did you stay on the island? Where did he keep you? Did you stay in the house? Did he know your husband? I just need to know. I need to know something. Anything. Who is he? What did he want with us?”

A tear escaped my eye, and I furiously brushed it away. “Sadie told me my name was Lily. I don’t know if I believe her, but really, why would she lie about that? I don’t know where I came from, who I was, or who I left behind. I don’t even need to know. But I need to know who he is.Whereis he?”

The widow remained unchanged. Her milky eyes still staring up, her body unchanged. Not even the air around us shifted with any kind of indication she was listening.

“Maybe you really don’t care,” I murmured. “Maybe you’re just completely loyal to him and you’ll lie there like that until you die. But please,” I begged. “If you can hear me, if you can understand me at all, please wake up. Please just tell me where he is and what he wants.”

Silence.

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