Page 136 of Amnesty

The ambulance started up and pulled away from the house.

“What now?” she asked, leaning her head against my shoulder.

“Now you get stitches,” I teased.

“After that,” she said, sitting up to give me a light shove. The motion caused her to wince.

“Easy,” I cautioned, carefully lifting her into my lap.

Her fingers brushed over a few bumps and bruises on my face. She leaned up and kissed them softly.

“After that, we live happily ever after,” I said, kissing her on the tip of her nose.

She smiled. “Did you get that line from a movie?”

“It’s a good line. Totally applies here,” I said reasonably.

“It only applies if it’s true,” she whispered.

Tipping her chin up with my thumb, I asked, “What do you think?”

Her brown eyes softened. The freckles across her nose and cheeks looked like stars. “True.” She decided.

My lips claimed hers.

Most definitely true.

We got married on the shores of Lake Loch. Right in our backyard to be exact. Our guests stood in the grass; mine and Eddie’s feet were in the water.

Some probably thought we were insane to make the lake such a big part of our day. A lake that caused so much pain and turmoil. A lake that nearly robbed us of our happily ever after more than once.

But what they didn’t understand…

The lake also brought us together.

Lake Lochlain was in many ways the catalyst for the wedding we stood at today.

Of course, some think the lake wasn’t any of these things. It was just a lake, just a body of water with no real spirit or character. I knew better than most this was the furthest from the truth.

I could have drowned that night I jumped from the hunting stand. I was almost plucked from the depths by a madman who refused to let me go.

But I was protected.

Carried away by the waves, concealed beneath the murky depths.

And though I couldn’t remember, I understood at times I’d been cradled by the water until Eddie pulled me to safety.

Sometimes when I stood on the shores and gazed out over the ever-changing current (that somehow always felt the same), I wondered if the water that surrounded my prison for many years was the very thing that set me free.

The doctors say my amnesia stemmed from trauma. My therapist told me it was my mind’s way of protecting me. So many logical, sensible conclusions to explain why I couldn’t remember much about my past.

I had a reason of my own, however. One that wasn’t so scientific. One that would probably get me more time with the head shrink if I ever voiced the theory.

The lake.

Somehow, Lake Loch washed away everything in my past. I knew even without seeing, all my memories, my old identity, and where I came from lay at the bottom of the water. Down in its deepest depths among the largest rocks, the laziest of fish, and perhaps even the Loch Ness herself.

I was just another secret the lake would likely never give up.

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