Before Frank could respond, her eyelids closed once again and the hand he held in his went slack, lifeless.

  Frank released his breath, unaware until this moment that he’d been holding it. He was shaken, much more so than he’d been in a very long time. Her appeal had been more than one of patient to doctor. It had been that of a tormented soul reaching out for help, and Frank knew, at that moment, that he had to do whatever was in his power to help her.

  * * *

  She awoke suddenly. Without opening her eyes she knew she was in a hospital. The smell surrounded her, an antiseptic mixture of rubbing alcohol and industrial-strength, pine-scented cleaner. Sounds seemed muted, a rolling cart whispered down a long hallway, the murmur of voices from another room, the buzz of someone ringing for a nurse. Yes, definitely a hospital. But why was she here?

  Wiggling her fingers and toes experimentally, relief surged through her. At least everything seemed to be working properly. She was in no pain. So why was she here?

  Somebody entered her room…a woman with one squeaky, rubber-soled shoe. She could tell it was a woman by the gentle lilac scent that suddenly filled the room, the whisper of nylons rubbing together. A nurse, she decided as she listened to the sounds of the window shades being pulled up.

  She cracked an eyelid, for a moment her vision blurry and unfocused. She opened the other eye and squinted, bringing into focus a short, plump, gray-haired nurse who was making notations in a chart. As she watched, the nurse closed the chart and slid it into the holder at the end of the bed.

  “Oh, lordy me. You’re awake,” she exclaimed, clasping a hand to her heart, obviously startled. “I’ll just go get Dr. Longford. He’ll be so pleased.”

  She scurried out and the woman on the bed turned her gaze to the window. The sunshine streaming in was brilliant, radiating warmth as it made dancing patterns on the bed. Summertime? She frowned. What had happened to spring? Where had winter gone?

  She turned her head, sensing rather than hearing somebody in the room. He stood just inside the door, a doctor judging by his white coat and the stethoscope dangling around his neck.

  He was very attractive, with dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples. His eyes were the color of melted caramels, and when he smiled she felt a strange familiarity, as if she’d met him before in some distant dream.

  “Hi,” he said, moving closer to the side of the bed, bringing with him the pleasant scent of a spicy after-shave. “I’m Dr. Longford…Frank Longford.”

  “Hi,” she replied, struggling to sit up, surprised to realize she didn’t have the strength. “Where…where am I?”

  “In the hospital…Garett Memorial.”

  “No, I mean what city? What state?”

  “You don’t know?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

  She shook her head, the motion making her realize it throbbed with a dull intensity. She raised a hand and gently massaged her left temple.

  “You’re in Garett Beach, North Carolina,” he answered.

  He has a wonderful voice, she thought. Deep and soothing, like a fire on a wintry night, it promised a comforting warmth.

  “How…how did I get here?” she asked, pressing at her temple once again.

  “I brought you here. You collapsed on the beach outside of my house.” Compassion stirred in Frank as he saw the confusion that muddied the green of her gaze.

  It was obvious she didn’t remember anything of how she’d come to be here. It was also a safe bet that she didn’t remember that single moment the night before when her eyes had opened and she’d connected with him in a way he couldn’t forget.

  All night long after he’d returned home, he’d thought about that look in her eyes, the desperate tone of her voice as she’d asked for help. It had haunted him like nothing had before in his life.

  He smiled at her. “How about I ask some questions now,” he suggested. She nodded and he continued. “How do you feel?” He pulled up a chair by the side of the bed and sat down.

  “Like I fell from the sky,” she answered with a rueful smile.

  The smile, curving up her sensual lips and lighting her green eyes, caused Frank’s heart to do something strange in his chest. “Could you be a little more specific?” he asked, pleased by her show of a sense of humor.

  “There really is nothing specific except for the fact that I have a terrible headache. Other than that, I just ache and feel so weak.”

  He nodded. “Your weakness is probably a result of the fact that you’re slightly undernourished. The headache and achiness can be attributed to the traces of sedatives the lab found in your blood.”

  “Sedatives?” Her dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You mean like sleeping pills? That’s ridiculous, I don’t take sleeping pills.”

  There was so much righteous indignation in her protest, Frank decided not to pursue the topic.

  “When can I be released?” she asked.

  Frank frowned. “Dr. Waylon is your official doctor and I think he wants to keep you here for a couple of days of observation.”

  She nodded, almost apathetic in her agreement to the suggestion.

  “Finally, the most important question of all. When I brought you in here, we couldn’t find any kind of I.D. You were dressed in a nightgown and didn’t have a purse, or anything. I don’t know your name.”

  She removed her hand from her temple and stared at him, her eyes like the muddied waters of a deep, mysterious pond. “Neither do I,” she replied softly.

  CHAPTER 2

  Her name…what was her name? She searched the recesses of her mind, trying to tear away the dark layers that obscured her identity. She closed her eyes, waves of confusion washing over her as she found nothing but blackness where her memories should be.

  “I don’t know…I can’t think…” She heard the edge of hysteria in her own voice, feeding the panic that climbed up her throat and threatened to choke her. She swallowed convulsively against it, refusing to give in to it.

  She frowned, staring at the doctor…Dr. Longford…why could she remember his name, but couldn’t remember her own? Again the panic crept up the back of her throat.

  “Let’s try something else,” he said, his voice gentle. He moved his chair closer to the edge of her bed and again she caught the pleasant scent of his cologne. Drakkar. Why was it she instantly knew the name of the cologne, but couldn’t remember her own damned name? “What can you tell me about yourself?” he asked.

  She shook her head, an overwhelming helplessness sweeping through her as she realized she couldn’t answer his question. Her mind was a horrifying blank. She knew nothing about herself, where she came from, nothing. Who am I? The words screamed in her head. Who am I?

  She took a deep breath, trying to control the shivering she felt in her body. What had happened to her? Why was she here? What was her name? The questions echoed in the blankness of her head, terrifying her.

  “Can you tell me today’s date?”

  She felt her frown deepen. She could hear her heartbeat throbbing in her temples, hear a dull roaring in her ears. “No,” she whispered.

  She felt the tears burning behind her eyes, and she willed herself not to cry. If she gave in to the horror and started to cry, she was afraid she would never be able to stop.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly, squeezing her hand with his larger one. “We’ll run some tests, see what we can find. But don’t worry, I promise you it will be all right.”

  And somehow, looking into his warm brown eyes, she felt her anxiety fading. Yes, somehow, some way, it would be all right. Dr. Frank Longford would make it all right.

  But minutes later when he left her room, she turned her head and stared out the window, the fear once again stealing in to fill her with a kind of controlled panic.

  Her name. It was a simple thing…should be such a simple thing. But the absence of that single bit of information made everything incredibly complicated, intensely frightening.

  Garett Beach, North Carolina. She wouldn’t even be able to pinpoint its location on a map. Was it her home? Did she live here? “Garett Beach, North Carolina.” She spoke the words aloud thoughtfully, waiting for a ring of familiarity to go off in her head. There was none.

  The tears she had held back before now trekked unchecked down her cheeks. She tasted their saltiness on her lips, swiped them away impatiently, her fingertips lingering as she felt the curve of her cheeks, the prominent ridge of cheekbones.

  Not only did she not know who she was, but she had no idea what she looked like. She ran her hands down the sheet that covered her. She was thin…too thin. She could count her ribs, feel the slightly protruding hipbones. For some reason, the thinness didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.

  She drew in a deep breath and fought off another wave of panic. She felt as if she’d been thrust into a stranger’s body. Maybe she was a pod person, but the aliens in charge had made an error. They had forgotten to transplant her brain.

  She felt a hysterical burst of laughter bubble to her lips, but instead of releasing it, she swallowed it. Terrific, so far she’d managed to remember the name of a men’s cologne and an old horror-movie plot. She was making progress. This was a nightmare…a horrible nightmare.

  Summoning what little strength she had, she shifted her legs over the side of the bed. She needed a mirror. If she didn’t know who she was, she could at least see what she looked like.

  She was as wobbly as Bambi on ice, her legs shaky as she made her way across the floor toward the bathroom. What had happened to her? Had she been in an accident? She clung to this thought. Yes, that must be what had happened. She’d hit her head and it had caused some sort of temporary amnesia.

  Once in the bathroom, she leaned weakly against the sink. She closed her eyes for a moment before peering into the mirror.

  Surely if she saw her reflection, her memory would instantly return. Surely if she saw her own face staring back at her from the mirror, she would instantly recall her name, reclaim her identity. Hope welled up inside her as she raised her head and stared at her reflection.

  Long black hair framed a narrow face, emphasizing large green eyes. The nose was small and straight, the lips full and generous. It was a nice face, but it was that of a complete stranger. “Dear God,” she whimpered as her initial hope escaped her on a tortured sigh. “Who am I?”

  She started to turn away from the mirror, then paused as she caught sight of a scar. It started at the base of her neck and disappeared into the top of the hospital gown. She pulled at the garment, seeing where the mottled, pale scar ended on her shoulder. She jerked the gown back up, her knees so weak she grabbed the edge of the sink for support.

  What sort of an accident would have caused such an injury? And why couldn’t she remember? Why couldn’t she remember anything at all?

  “Ah, there you are, dearie.” She turned to see the little gray-haired nurse standing in the bathroom doorway. The nurse took the young woman’s arm firmly and led her to a wheelchair that awaited by the door of the room. “You should have rung for help if you needed to get up. That’s what I’m here for. I’m Etta Maxwell, and you need anything at all while you’re here, you just ring that buzzer and I’ll come running.”

  As Etta chatted, she helped the younger woman into the wheelchair. “Now I’m going to run you down to the lab. Dr. Waylon has ordered all kinds of tests for you. He and Doc Longford will fix you up. They’re good doctors, both of them.”

  As Etta pushed her down the corridor of the hospital, she tried to find comfort in the nurse’s words. Surely Dr. Longford would find out what was wrong with her. They’d give her a shot or a pill and restore her memory. She had no other choice but to trust in their expertise. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, hoping, praying, that Dr. Longford could give her back her identity, her life.

  * * *

  “Nothing. I see absolutely no physiological cause for her amnesia,” Frank said, staring at the test results in front of him. Russ had reached the same conclusion only moments before, and Frank looked at him in frustration. It had been almost forty-eight hours since he’d brought her in, hours spent in running tests that would determine any conceivable basis for her amnesia. The neurosurgeon had come in from Wilmington earlier that day and had run more extensive tests, and the results had all come back within the normal range.

  “Her CAT scan is normal, her blood workup is okay, no severe vitamin deficiencies, no suspicious bumps on the head.” Russ scratched his cheek and shrugged his shoulders. “If I had to guess, the only thing left is some sort of psychological problem.”

  Frank nodded absently. “At least we now have a name,” he said. The hospital had contacted the police, who’d gone to the rental cottages and discovered that the woman had signed the register as Jane Smith. The police had gathered up her belongings and brought them to the hospital. Unfortunately, in those meager belongings there had not been a purse, a wallet or any official form of identification.

  “So, what do we do now?” Frank asked Russ.

  Again Russ shrugged. “There’s nothing more we can do for her here. The next step is to release her.”

  “Release her? Release her to what? She has a name, but no memory, no real identity. She has no money, no I.D. What’s she going to do?”

  Russ frowned. “I’ll call Social Services and see what they can do for her. Surely they can put her up in a shelter, or something.”

  “When are you releasing her?” Frank asked.

  “I see no point in putting it off. This afternoon. In fact, I was just going in to tell her.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Frank said, knowing instinctively it would distress her to leave what had been a safe and known environment. As he walked down the long corridor to her room, he thought about what would happen to her once she was released. She’ll be all right, he told himself. She could stay in one of the shelters until her memory returned or one of the social services agencies made other arrangements. She’s not my problem, he reminded himself as he walked into her room.

  She stood at the window, her back to him, apparently unaware of his presence. For a moment, he simply looked at her, unable to help but notice how the morning sunshine shone not only through the window, but also through her thin cotton gown. He could see the darker lines of her figure, the slight whisper of her waist, the thin hips.

  He also noticed her posture…defenseless, vulnerable, her forehead resting against the window as if it were the glass itself that held her upright.

  “Jane?”

  She turned around and immediately straightened, her lips curving into a smile of pleasure. “Hi, Dr. Longford.” She moved away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her green eyes focused on him expectantly.

  “Are you feeling better this morning?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My headache is gone, I feel much stronger. There’s only this one slight problem…” She smiled wryly. “I seem to have misplaced my mind.”

  He returned her smile, having recognized over the past two days that she hid her fear, her uncertainty, beneath a wry sense of humor. “No memories after the police told you your name?”

  Her smile wavered slightly, speaking more than anything she could say verbally.

  “It will come,” he quickly assured her, wanting to see the sunshine of her smile once again. “However, we’ve gone through the test results and we’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no physiological reason for your amnesia.” He hesitated, then continued. “Dr. Waylon is of the opinion that perhaps your amnesia is due to some sort of psychological trauma.”

  “That’s the good news? That you’ve come to the conclusion that I’m crazy?”

  He laughed. “No, Jane. Nobody thinks you’re crazy. But it’s possible that, for some reason, your mind has shut itself down.” She looked at him blankly. “It’s sort of like a computer. The files to your memory are all in there, but for some reason, you can’t access them.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I recommend that you make an appointment to talk to a therapist. But this isn’t the news I really came to deliver. The good news is that Dr. Waylon is releasing you this afternoon.”

  “Release? Oh, how nice.” Only the slight trembling of her lower lip told him of her distress at the thought of leaving the hospital.

  “Jane,” he said softly as he joined her on the edge of the bed. He picked up one of her hands in his. “I can imagine how frightening the thought of leaving the hospital is, but there’s nothing more we can do for you here.”

  She jerked her hand out of his and jumped off the bed, her eyes flashing emerald fires as she glared at him. “How can you imagine how frightening it is for me? You know who you are. When you leave here, you’ll go to your home, where you have all your things surrounding you. All I have to do is figure out where I’m going from here…who the hell Jane Smith really is.” Her eyes misted. “God, I don’t know who I am…I don’t know anything about me.”

  She crumbled before him, the fire of anger in her eyes extinguished by the tears that filled their bright green depths. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “It’s all right. I’d say you’ve got a right to be angry.”

  She nodded and tears began to slip down her cheeks. Before Frank could say anything else, she sank back down on the bed, covered her eyes and sobbed.

  Frank hesitated only a moment, then, feeling awkward and helpless, he placed an arm around her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. She turned her face into his lab jacket and shook with the intensity of her tears.

  Her body was warm against his, and she smelled of soap and shampoo. He murmured meaningless platitudes, waiting patiently for her to cry herself out.

  When finally her sobs had dissipated to occasional hiccups, he moved away from her and handed her a tissue. “Feel better?” he asked.

  “A little,” she admitted. “And more than a bit embarrassed,” she added, wringing the tissue in her hands.

  “No need to be embarrassed. I’d say you earned the right to a good cry. Sometimes it’s the best medicine.”

 

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