Page 3 of Ghosts From Christmas Past

She nodded because he expected an answer, yet she couldn’t think clearly to answer verbally.

“That’s good. Can you speak?”

She had no idea. Her throat felt as dry as a desert, and yet she tried. “I think so.” The words came out slurred and croaky, barely a whisper, as if she hadn’t used her voice in a long time.

The doctor’s smile was kind. “You’re doing great. Relax for a moment and I’ll just do a quick physical exam. Then I’ll explain what’s going on.”

She glanced around the room, now filled with dozens of people. Something momentous was happening here. But she didn’t have a clue.

Why couldn’t she remember her name was Charlotte? Why was she here in this place?

The doctor’s gentle hands performed various motor skills test before he checked her vitals. Then he turned to the crowd. “Would you all give us a moment?” The room emptied and he pulled up a chair. “Charlotte, this will be hard to hear, but you’ve been in a coma for a very long time,” he said quietly and waited while each word struck like a blow. “Eight years, in fact. Do you remember what happened that put you in the coma?”

Eight years? She stared at him as if incapable of believing what he’d said, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. Was this some type of sick joke?

“Eight years,” she repeated, her voice struggling to cooperate. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. “What happened?”

Concern tightened the corners of the doctor’s mouth. “You were attacked in your home eight years ago almost to the day.” He hesitated. “Your parents were both killed. I’m so sorry.”

She waited for a reaction. Some feeling. Grief. Pain. Regret. Yet nothing came, and that frightened her even more.

“I don’t remember anything,” she murmured, her voice thready, but not from lack of use any longer. She was terrified.

The doctor patted her hand, and concern spread over his face. “Tell me what you do remember?” he asked, some of his soothing tone slipping.

Charlotte struggled to come up with something, but it was like staring at a blank screen. She remembered the terrifying blackness. The sense of evil lurking there. Nothing more.

“I can’t remember anything.”

Before he could cover his shock, she saw it. “This is not to be unexpected,” he managed, his tone back to reassuring. “You’ve just awakened from a lengthy coma. Your memories are naturally fuzzy. Give it time. I’m sure they will return before long.” Dr. Montgomery didn’t make eye contact. He didn’t believe it himself.

The doctor rose to his feet. “The best thing for you right now is to rest. This has been a traumatic event, and I don’t want you to stress over this too much. I’ll stop by later this afternoon and check in on you again, okay?” He smiled and patted her hand once more, then pulled his free. The doubt in his eyes didn’t back up his words. “Now, try not to worry.”

But how could she not? She had no idea who she was, much less why someone had wanted her entire family dead.

???

“What did you say?” Sheriff Dylan Parker sank down into the chair behind his desk. Unable to trust what he’d heard, he asked the doctor to repeat it.

“She’s awake, Dylan. Charlotte Swenson is awake.”

Even after hearing the words again, they still didn’t make sense. “How? It’s been almost eight years. How is that possible?”

The doctor’s weighty sigh wasn’t reassuring. “I wish I had answers for you, but quite honestly, I’ve never seen anything like this before. You read about these things but—” He stopped as if to gather his thoughts. “Anyway, I figured you’d want to know right away.”

“I do. Of course, I do.” Yet his thoughts wouldn’t come together. “Does she remember what happened that day?” Part of him hoped Charlie didn’t. Losing both her parents on Christmas in such a horrific way was unimaginable. The other part wanted to bring in that ruthless killer out of the past and make him pay for what he did.

The time it took the doctor to answer was filled with foreboding.

“Is there something else, Dr. Montgomery?” Dylan asked while wishing his good friend would spit it out.

“There is,” the doctor finally said. “Charlotte doesn’t remember anything. Not about the attack, or what happened to her parents. Nothing about her past.”

Dylan’s gut clenched. Poor Charlie. All he could think about was she needed him, and he desperately wanted to be there for her. He shot out of the chair and grabbed his keys. Dylan wasn’t about to let her go through this frightening experience alone.

“Anyway, perhaps when you visit her next, it’ll jog a memory and get her started on the road to recovering those past memories, although I dread having her relive that nightmare.” Another weighty sigh followed. “I’ve done a thorough physical exam, and she appears healthy enough with the exception of her lost memories.”

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