The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets), page 4
I rubbed my eyelids, detecting a thick layer of a gooey Vaseline substance. It certainly was not an expensive spa cream. I blinked several times hoping it would remove the sticky residue. To my chagrin this added no relief, it had seeped into my eyes, only making matters worse.
His dark hair with gray streaks weaved in and out of my sight. I continued to blink rapidly, causing my eyes to water. My vision began to clear. Within a few minutes, his entire image manifested. He stood just a few feet away from my bedside.
I considered him rather attractive. He was fairly tall, lean, and distinguished looking. I would have guessed him to be in his early forties, but his eyes were shrewd, making him look much older. Wiser, keen, and highly intelligent.
In one hand, he held a clipboard and in the other a pen. He flipped indolently through attached pages, absorbed and unaware of my observation. When he noticed me intently staring at him, he lowered the metal clipboard to his side
“You are awake, finally,” he said, leaning into the path of my eyes. I scanned his face. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Perhaps, I had seen him before. I summed it up as just one of those familiar faces.
“Hello,” I managed to say in a raspy whisper. My esophagus constricted, which caused a coughing spell.
“Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please,” I answered automatically, lifting my head, holding waves of nausea at bay.
What happened to me?
“I’ve been really worried about you.”
“You have?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“I’m confused. Who are you?”
“Your physician. Don’t you remember me?”
Remember? Physician?
Startled further, I had not even remembered being taken to the hospital and or why.
“I have been checking in on you often. You are quite an interesting young lady.” I detected a cheeky sarcasm in his tone. The sound of his voice did not ring any bells. Although he had a fatherly intonation, I didn’t recognize him. He was not dressed like any doctor I have ever seen either.
“Sorry...I don’t remember you,” I said, forcing a smile and then closing my eyes. I tried to fish him out of my memory but came up blank.
“It’s okay. We had only spoken briefly. Actually, I did most of the talking, and you stared through me. I do not blame you though...considering.”
I followed his voice around the room, sensing his every move. I listened to the sound of his footsteps clicking against the floor, and the water trickling into a glass. He continued to drone on about my condition, which only raised my blood pressure.
I momentarily closed my eyes in my best attempt to tune him out. I wished it could have been as easy to shut off my hearing. At that point, I would not have minded suffering from half of the conditions that Helen Keller had. Deaf, mute, and—I won’t go there.
From the inclined position of the bed, I turned toward the only window in the room. A delicate slice of light streamed through an outdated rolled-down shade. There was a dilapidated metal screen attached to the exterior of the window. From what I could see outside it was early morning, dark sky and raining hard. The sound of the rain culminated a sense of loneliness and abandonment. What a surreal feeling it was to wake up in a hospital, especially in another county, completely alone.
“So where am I?” I inquisitively asked a rhetorical question. It was obvious where I was. “I mean, what hospital is this?” I added under my breath, “Jeez, my head is killing me.” Eyes cinched, massaging my temples with both palms, I lightly applied pressure. The pain was unforgivable!
“Easy...you have stitches. Do you remember what happened to you?”
I coughed, clearing my throat to speak. “No,” I said, stretching my neck in his direction as he made his way back to my bedside.
“Here, drink this, slowly.” He handed me the glass of water.
“Oh, thank you. I’m so thirsty.” Immediately, I sipped down the water. What a disappointment. It was lukewarm and not what I expected. I rolled my tongue over the roof of my mouth, repulsed by the taste of the water. “Can I please get some bottled water?”
“Bottled water? I do not—”
I chimed in. “Never mind. Thanks anyway. I guess this will do.” I took another sip of the lukewarm water and almost gagged.
A distressed look crossed over his aging yet handsome face. “Our water supply is not fully restored. I apologize. The well was severely damaged by those nincompoops.”
Nincompoops? Gangs! I assumed.
“Oh...it’s okay.” I knitted my brows together, braving down another sip. I wondered if the water could have been contaminated.
Woman dies at a local hospital, not from falling into a well, but from drinking water from it.
“Miss Eden, the hospital has been trying to locate your next of kin. It has not been an easy task.”
“Why?” I asked, grimacing, when doing so my lips tightened. They felt extremely dry as if they would split.
“So they can visit with you...we thought you would want them to know—”
I interjection, “Yes, of course, but there’s no reason for them to travel so far now. I’m feeling better. Well, all but this headache.”
“I understand,” he said then added, “shouldn’t you allow them to make that decision? I am sure they would want to be here for you.”
“Yes, I’m sure they would want to be, but even so, it would take hours for them to arrive—they live in New York City. By the time they book flights, I’ll be home,” I said, feeling puzzled. A panic-stricken thud hit against the inside wall of my chest.
Am I going to die? I was afraid to ask. I didn’t understand the urgency of my family having to travel all the way to Paris.
He sighed deeply. “So you’re not from Paris, but New York?” His pitch heightened. “That explains a lot,” he said with a meaningful edge.
“No, I mean yes. I’m from Manhattan, New York,” I affirmed.
“This certainly puts us off course, New York, uh. That is not what you have been saying in your sleep.”
“Oh, gosh, I sometimes talk in my sleep, or, so I’ve been told. I’m not sure why I would say—”
He interjected. “Yes, you sure do.”
“I’m sorry about that.” I could feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Hoping I didn’t say anything inappropriate.
“No harm done. We have learned quite a bit about you.”
“Oh crap—I can only imagine.” I short laughed.
He appeared to bite his tongue. Under his breath, I thought I heard him say, “Language.” He then asked, “Do you have any family here in Paris?”
“I don’t think so, but my memory is still a bit fuzzy, maybe...”
“Well, Miss Eden, at least you know who you are, some people wake up and don’t remember anything, let alone who they are.”
I nodded, and blinked at the same time, trying to digest everything he was saying. “Yes, I understand. I’m glad I’m not that bad off,” I said, managing to smile.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. When you arrived, you were in terrible condition, with a significant head injury and other obvious traumatic injuries. Short-term memory loss can be expected—considering all you must have been through. We are just grateful to see that you are conscious now and stable. We will do some simple memory tests to see how much you remember. But there’s no hurry. We don’t want to rush you into trying to remember everything at once—it is a process and it can take months.”
I didn’t like the tone in his voice—it sounded as if he had a long-term plan for me. Still, what had I been through? Did he know? Perhaps it was a good thing I’d lost my memory?
“Everything is so jumbled. I don’t remember much at all. When did you say my memory would come back?” I blinked, trying to clear my mind.
He shook his head. “I didn’t. There is no telling when—in all honesty, your memory may never come back. As I said, it is just something that time will tell and, perhaps, long-term therapy.” He moved in closer to me and softly said, “Try to relax. We will figure this out together.”
“What’s to figure out? You said it would take time, but either way I don’t think I need therapy.” I certainly didn’t want anyone probing into my psyche. I had too many secrets stashed away. I needed time to catch my breath and process my thoughts. “I’m certain that I’m fine for the most part.”
Obviously, trying to change the subject, he went straight into asking me who was it that I had been talking to before he entered the room.
“No one,” I responded offering a smile. “Why?”
“Really? The nurses said it sounded as if you were having a full-blown conversation.”
“No, I haven’t had any visitors,” I replied, feeling a bit confused. “This is the first time I’ve been awake—since—unless I forgot that too.”
“Well, I didn’t think so, but perhaps...” He paused suspiciously. His eyes flashed across to the bedside table and mine followed, stopping on a black rotary phone. How antiquated, I thought. He continued, “Perhaps, you woke up and called someone, and your right you don’t remember.”
“No but...why can’t I use the phone?”
He spoke at the same time as me, “I didn’t think the telephone worked? The storm knocked it out.”
“I don’t know if it does or not.” I shrugged, shook my head and eagerly inquired, “By the way, have you seen my cell?” My eyes darted back to the side table.
His eyes followed mine. “Your cell?” he asked, imitating my pitch. His intelligent expression turned blank. He shifted his analytical eyes, sternly appraising me.
“Yes. I’m sure there are notes that I had written in my phone or on my calendar app...I do that sort of thing—you know, making list.” I rambled on under my breath, essentially to myself as I scanned the room for my belongings. “I also probably updated my Facebook page to where I went last...there must be something there that will jiggle my memory.”
“Actually, we did find an interesting note.” He threw his hand into the air, and his eyes brightened. “Let me get it...but first...please, excuse me for one moment.” He promptly traced over to the phone, pulled out from his pocket a pair of the tiniest scissors and snipped the wires. He glanced over toward me and mumbled something about, the telephone service being overrated.
I opened my mouth to speak, agape. Suddenly, the words withdrew from my thoughts. Perhaps it was actually the pain in my head that pulled me away from responding. I stared blankly into space. While I was at a loss for words, my mind was ticking.
Who was this doctor—handyman, and telephone repairman, too?
I eyeballed him as he stuck his head outside of the room.
What is he up to?
He spoke in a malleable whisper to someone whom I could not see. Then exited.
“What’s going on?” I called to him. It was too late; he was gone.
My eyes slowly roamed around the room. Nothing but plain bluish-gray walls enclosed me. They were bare. No artwork. I peered upward to the ceiling at the double-bladed fan. It also looked a bit dated like the phone; however, it added a nostalgic touch to the room. I supposed that is what the commercial designer was going for.
To my right on the side-table was a single lonely lamp providing inadequate lighting. Lonely...hmm, there was a single word describing how I felt. Lonely and single. Or so it appeared that way. No visitors surrounded me with big bright goofy smiles, beaming down like clowns. There were no familiar faces, anticipating stares, or concerned eyes glad to see that I was living. Nothing worthy of a Kodak moment.
My eyes drew to the left, over my shoulder, and slightly behind the bed where I noticed a heart monitor staring back at me. At least, that is what it looked like. It was turned off.
A good sign, I thought, considering my condition.
My eyes bee-lined along the dingy yellowing cord that dangled from the monitor and snaked twice around the bed rail. Overall, it was the most minimalist hospital room I’d ever seen.
I wondered again what had happened that landed me here. I lay back, exhausted, searching my memory for a clue...
-5-
Sinfully taken!
The door where the doctor exited from reopened, slowly. A dark shadow emerged in the threshold then paused. Illuminated by the dim hall light that mated behind him, I idly studied his lines.
His physique was far more muscular and taller than the doctor’s. He had remarkably broad shoulders that practically filled the entranceway. Dark, wavy hair framed his chiseled face, and neatly tucked behind his ears, while the ends drifted against his collar. His presence sparked my awareness.
“Hello?” I breathed aloud.
“I will get you out of here soon,” he whispered with strong conviction. “Don’t let them erase your memory. Hang on.”
What was he talking about? I tried to absorb what he was saying, but the distraction of his presence took over instead.
His intense delivery penetrated my senses. The sound of his voice was smooth and even, his posture upright and confident. So confident that it caused chills to take my breath away.
There was something about him in the few seconds when I heard him speak that drew me in. In his case, I was sure drawing attention from the opposite sex was not difficult. He was magnificently that stunning.
“What? Who are you,” I replied nervously. “Do I know you?” When his dark gaze locked with mine, the air whooshed from my lungs.
“This morning I was here...we—” was the last thing I heard him say. He had undoubtedly mistaken me for someone else. Of course, that was just my luck.
I was not sure exactly what happened next. If I blinked long, and subsequently he vanished. Or when a painful twinge traveled up my spine, along my neck and into my brain so intensely, causing me to pass out, and perhaps, that is what sent him on his way.
I supposed it didn’t matter what came first...as in the chicken or the egg. Regardless, I had blacked out, which should have been my main concern.
To my chagrin, moments later, the handsome intruder stood feet from my bedside. Immediately, I perked up to his presence and intense scrutiny. He patiently stared down at me. How long had he been watching me?
Because his tall frame went on forever, I had to lift my head to see his full image. God, he was breathtaking. I swallowed back the lump that caught in my throat.
His outstanding gray eyes clouded with a look of scorching desire. Before I could speak, his strong masculine body loomed over mine. He wanted to devour me; there was no denying that. Urgency stirred in his eyes, something I could not place my finger on—a look of life and death lingered in his eyes, radiating a thin-line of uncertainty. He leaned into to me. His face was inches from my eyes.
“Wait, don’t...who are you?” Guarding the space between us, I braced my palm against his chest.
“Kiss me, then you will know the truth.” His deep voice, low and raw, saturated my ability to think straight.
“Tell me,” I hesitantly commanded, holding my breath.
“I want to...more, than you know. If I tell you who I am, I fear it will change everything between us. I can’t take that risk. You must remember on your own.” He touched all corners of me with his eyes. I felt motionless, unable to move. He leaned into me, again, breaking my hold. My mind raced. It all happened so fast, I could hardly find the words to slow him down.
Without warning his lips pressed onto mine. Beneath the pressure of his firm delicious mouth, I tried to speak. He hushed me...kissing me into silence. There was no stopping his liaison. He was in control. He did not violate me; as a matter of fact, he was tender, so passionate and seemingly familiar.
“Brielle, sweet darling,” he breathily whispered. He knew my name. My heart leaped in my chest...I wanted to remember him.
My thoughts struggled to evoke a memory of him. “What? What risk? Please tell me,” I murmured as he continued to swallow my protest.
His mouth. His lips. His touch. All of him whet my appetite. I relented to his fervency. The feathering of his fingertips caressed over my body, stealing my breath and any thoughts of resisting fled.
There was no hesitation, claiming what he wanted, needed, and hungered for. A need rose in me, too, one I could not harness, and that I could not resist. He slowly removed my thin gown, worshipping my nakedness with his ardent eyes.
“The doctor, he is returning.” My breaths quickened, turning to panic, despite the ebb and flow of my desire.
“No one can enter into the fission of our two worlds.”
“But—”
He put two fingers against my lips. “Shhh, be still. Let me into your heart.”
I was exposed to him in everyway. So, bare and so open...a heat crept over my face, dipping my head, feeling shy and overwhelmed. I reacted by pulling the blanket up over myself.
“I want to,” I whimpered.
“My God, you are even more beautiful than before.” He whispered. His eyes landed on the corner of my right eye. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
I assumed it was a bruise he referred to. His fingers slightly touched the edge of my cheek. The sensation caused a small dull pain amongst pleasure, making me gasp inwardly.
“Not so much,” I replied.
He softly kissed the tender spot near my eye. His lips traveled along my hairline, down to my earlobe, causing tingles to trace over me. As his lips washed over me, my body gave into the idea of letting him have his way with me, but my mind and heart were at polar opposites. The caveat to giving in completely was when I caught in his eyes a painful longing, the same woebegone longing that I understood, all too well, and knew I had felt somewhere in time before these moments. It was then I surrendered to him without equivocation. It was then I lost all or what little self-control I had left.
Everything in that moment escaped me, all but the man who held me in his arms, near to his massive chest, breathing deeply. A feeling of strong want soared in me. His lips brushed over my shoulders and traced down my neck to the swell of my breasts. He kissed my pink nipples, tantalizing them with small scraping bites. I coiled into the pleasure-inducing aphrodisiac created by the skin of his teeth. The delicate pain transcended into bliss.
