The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets), page 7
I concentrated on his face harder. I felt nothing.
Fuck, I had no memory of him before today. Was he the man I had forgotten? He wasn’t smiling, nor did he lean in to kiss me as one may do. Is he my lover?There was no way this was possible!Although there was something familiar about him, I couldn’t imagine he was someone I would date.
I thought long and hard...reasoning it all out. How did I get there? What was with all the bizarre questions? Was he trying to jog my memory of him?
Maybe he is my boyfriend, and because I didn’t recognize him, he is disguising himself as my doctor in order to save me from the shock of whom he really is. I had seen a familiar storyline in a true-life movie once before.
Then it dawned on me...
What if I’m having an affair behind his back with the man that entered my room? He did make my temperature rise. Maybe he knows I’m having an affair, and that’s the reason for all his questions about the other man. What should I do? I can’t just ask him, can I? I need to get out of here and find Nuilley. She would know if I were having an affair. I tell her everything. How am I going to get out of here? Crap! He has barely left my side since I woke up.
I pondered this theory for a few seconds longer. It was an impossible scenario, knowing me, I would never cheat on anyone—despite if he were twenty years older than me or not. I abhor cheaters!
Then I had a second theory...
What if he and I had been dating, and I broke up with him and that enraged him? Then I started dating the man who appeared in my doorway. Afterwards he began stalking me, and he soon discovered I had found someone new. This caused him to go insane...then he beat me, drugged me, and has now taken me prisoner and that’s why he was so incensed about me mentioning Hitler’s name in my sleep. Maybe I compared his behavior to Hitler. That could surely tick anyone off. What if this isn’t even a hospital? After all, I had only seen that one nurse...maybe she’s being paid to guard me. What if he’s some kind of deranged sicko, and the other girl and I have been kidnapped? This could explain why she was hysterical. What am I thinking!
This theory was more outlandish than the others, but probable.
There was no explanation for any odd questions that didn’t pertain to my obvious injuries. Why was my name signed to the note, which I am certain I didn’t write? Why couldn’t I remember anything?
My mind continued to do mental gymnastics. It was evident I had retained most of my childhood memories; regardless the last year of my life had seemed to escape me. The only fact I could recall was I had moved to Paris with my best friend Nuilley, but beyond that my memories were vacant, making it very factual that I had, in fact, lost my short-term memory. But, how that occurred seemed to be a mystery to everyone. Several more likely scenarios entered my flustered thinker.
What if I had witnessed the man who entered my room murder someone? Then he tried to kill me, but I escaped. And the doctor is working with the police to help me regain my memory because they want me to testify against him in court. God, and now...I am in a witness protection program!
I began to hyperventilate. I worked myself into a real lather. Breathe. Breathe. I needed to think more rationally.
Brielle, I scolded myself, you are not writing one of your mystery novels right now. This is your life, but good content for a later date!
Then the most sensible explanation came to me...
Okay, he’s probably just my boyfriend who happens to be a doctor. I suddenly remembered Nuilley trying to set me up with a few of her doctor friends. I suppose I accepted the opportunity. All of this makes perfect sense now. The reason for his questions about my personal life is to help me remember things on my own. The man in the doorway wasn’t any one I knew—just a random visitor. That must be it. How thoughtful of the doctor to put his feelings aside in order to make things easier on me. I am sure he wants me to remember him naturally. He must really care for me, I thought.
This seemed like the best theory of them all.
Just go with it.
I felt a pang of sorrow that I didn’t remember him. Of course, I only felt this for his sake, not my own. It was all becoming clear to me. It was a gallant act of love that he was standing by my side. It hadn’t appeared as if anyone else had. After all, he has been my only visitor.
I wondered for a moment where Nuilley was, and why she hadn’t visited me yet? He probably didn’t want my friends to see me in this condition. I imagined how awful it must be for him that I have forgotten our lives together. My condition must be killing him. I flashed at his hand resting on the bed rail so close to me, yet so far.
I placed my hand over his and asked him timidly and sincerely, “You, am I suppose to remember, you?” My voice cracked. By chance, I also wrinkled my nose, how unappealing that must have looked like. “Did I write this to you?” I buzzed, trying to sound cheerful and happy about my revelation. Regardless, I mentally held my breath, praying that none of my theories were true!
“Ooh no. We have never met before,” he replied, smiling broadly. A wry twinkle flashed in his eyes. Amused, perhaps flattered, that I thought he was the man I had forgotten. It lightened the mood just a little; however, I didn’t find anything amusing.
“I am sorry. I thought, well—” I quickly retracted my hand. How embarrassing! I didn’t have the strength to explain my faux pas. I couldn’t cloud my mind, for the second time, with elusive thoughts.
Just because none of my theories panned out, it didn’t change the fact that the handwriting on the note wasn’t mine. Something did not add up. I couldn’t let go of a few nagging questions. Who wrote the note, why the hell did they sign it with my name, and why was it dated 1945?
“Brielle, the note was the only item that we were able to identify you by.”
“Identify me,” I buzzed, in a low voice. “Are you saying that no one knows I am here? I thought you had contacted my family already? So I’ve been lying here, and nobody even knows I’m here. Oh my God, essentially I’m a Jane Doe. I don’t understand, you said—” My heart constricted. Why isn’t my family looking for me?
“Your name is...Jane Doe?” the doctor asked, with a look of confusion loomed his eyes.
“No. It’s Brielle Eden.” I sighed heavily. What is wrong with him?
“Then, why are you calling yourself Jane Doe?”
“Huh? You know—that’s what they call an unidentified person. At least, in America they do,” I said, trailing to a whisper. No sooner did I say that, and before the doctor spoke, it dawned on me what had caused the confusion. Jane Doe was probably a term only used in America.
“Okay. That’s a term I am not familiar with,” he said, humbly.
I felt bad that I had internally questioned his keen acumen. However, you would think any doctor in an English speaking, forwarded country would have known the term. Obviously, this wasn’t the case with my doctor. I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself. Oh hell! There were Americans who didn’t even know that Joe Biden was the Vice President, so how could I have expected a doctor in France to know what Jane Doe meant.
“Well, anyway...I thought you said you contacted my parents.”
“No. I’m sorry. We were not sure how to contact your family. When you first arrived, initially you managed to tell us that you were from Paris—you also mumbled this in your sleep. The authorities have been notified that we had an unidentified young lady here, or as you would say a Jane Doe.” He smiled proudly after using his new American term. “And, well—now, that we know you are from New York City we might have an issue—getting messages to the states is virtually impossible since the last siege on Paris—”
“Yes, but—What? Did you say we’re under attack?” Terrorist? Oh, my God! I exclaimed inwardly.
“No, no. Not currently, but it may take a while before we can get word to your family. We can try to send a telegram but—”
My mind reeled as I absorbed this information. The thought of my parents not being able to contact me was extremely upsetting.
They must be out of their minds with worry.
“This is overwhelming...I didn’t know we had been attacked...” I said, swallowing my panic. It must have been a terrible attack.
“Really? You didn’t know this?” he asked in a surprising manner. He surveyed me with straining eyes, then retrieved eyeglasses from his pocket and placed them low on the bridge of his nose. “You must have lost more than your short-term memory.” He shook his head perplexingly; narrowing his eyes just a fraction.
“Yes...I guess I have,” I mumbled under my breath, considering what he’d said.
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay...now that you are fairly coherent, you can write them a letter.”
“What? I’ll just call them—”
I flashed on the doctor, and he was looking at me as if I was crazy. I didn’t care what he thought at that point.
I continued to ramble on, without taking a breath, and my pitch increasingly rose. “God, they’re going to freak out—I can hear the I-told-you-so’s already. My father was so...against me moving overseas—he’s going to have a conniption fit and will want answers. I have no idea what I’m going to tell them?” I rested my forehead in my palm. Thinking. “Does anyone know what happened to me?” I exhaled.
“Miss Eden, we don’t know—we found you unconscious on the front step of the hospital. All you had was the clothing on your back and that note in the front pocket of your dungarees,”—dungarees?— “Your condition was touch and go for a long time. I am sure when you speak to your family, more than anything, they will be relieved to hear that you are out of the woods. Just, tell them the truth,” he said firmly, slightly raising both eyebrows.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Then it hit me. Had I been caught in the middle of the terrorist bombing? My pulse accelerated, and my entire body grew clammy.
“Is there a laptop around here I can borrow?” I asked, figuring I would hop on Skype to call my mother. She had to be climbing the walls. I usually spoke to my parents every other day.
“Huh? A lap...top—” His eyes scanned the room, drawing back to me and asked, “You’re not comfortable with the one you have on?”
“What?”
“Your top...is it not suitable?”
I glanced down, pulling at the thin fabric of the hospital gown. “No, it’s fine.” I shrugged, feeling dumbfounded.
Okay, maybe I should have first asked for a PC and then worked my way up to a laptop? This doctor must have spent too much time on missions in a third world country and didn’t know what a laptop was.
Cluck!
A huge smile rose to my face. My eyes darted to the door.
“Are you expecting someone?” Doctor Tagorski inquisitively asked.
“No,” I said beaming at the door anticipating Nuilley and a cameraman to plow into the room any second, laughing her ass off. It would be just like her to have Punk’d me. She didn’t think twice about crashing Demi & Ashton’s party a few years ago at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City. We didn’t end up hanging out with them, but we did make friends with a few young actresses on the verge of stardom. Nuilley was always hobnobbing with the in crowd. If she wanted to pull off a stunt like this, she certainly had the connections.
“Are you sure you are Brielle Eden? I mean, perhaps you believe you are, only, because we have been referring to you by her name.”
“Uh? Yes...of course, I’m certain that’s my name,” I clarified emphatically, feeling irritation bubbling to the surface. “Listen, I need to get out of here as soon as possible.” I flashed at the handwritten note. “As for this, it’s not my handwriting.” I focused on the note. “I don’t know who wrote this, but I didn’t. Besides, most of the time when I write letters it’s on my iPad, and I usually just email them—I’ve never owned such beautiful stationary like this.” I glanced at the note. “You do believe me now—don’t you?” I asked firmly.
“I’m having a hard time with your jargon,” he said, looking over the top of his dark rimmed glasses.
Ditto!
I threw my arms into the air out of frustration. Why did I feel the need to defend myself so fiercely? Was I in some kind of trouble? Did he think I was involved in the terrorist bombings? All he had to do was look at me...long blonde hair, green eyes, and my complexion was as white as flour. Of course, I supposed there was no protocol to what a terrorist may look like. Although the likes of me didn’t play in my favor, I was a hot mess. There was no doubt a woman covered in bruises and who had lost her memory could have appeared rather suspicious.
My throat tightened, and my jaw quivered the way it does when you know you are about to cry.
-9-
Release me
“Listen, my name is Brielle Eden. I was born in Manhattan, my parents are Brandy and Mitchell, and I have a younger brother named Brett. What else—you already know my blood type,” I retorted, punctuating almost every word.
“Yes...that’s another thing,”—of course it is, I thought. He continued saying, “You have one of the most rarest blood types, AB negative. The percentage of this blood type is 0.7 out of every million.”
“Yes, I know and? It’s not like I’m in need of blood.”
“It’s just something worth mentioning. Miss Eden, there’s more,”—spill your guts, Doc, I retorted inwardly—“I did some checking when you fell asleep, and the hospital records confirm that there was a Brielle Eden born twenty-three years ago, which is probably about the same age as you.” He traced through my chart, obviously to double-check my age.
I pursed my lips, shaking my head, “Okay and—”
“Her blood type was AB negative—was,” he repeated emphatically.
“Was?” I asked. A lump stuck in my throat. “You mean she’s—”
He raised both brows in tandem. “I’m afraid so...her death certificate claims she passed away six months ago. It was really very tragic.”
I shook my head, “That’s awful, but...you don’t think I’m her...I mean—I’m not her. Obviously, I’m very much alive. Besides, I wasn’t born in Paris.” I exhaled. “What a strange coincidence that two people could have the same name, same blood type, and be the same age...” I said, trailing to a whisper then shivered to the bone. Not because I was cold. Shocked, to say the least. “How did she die, do you know?”
“Yes, she was pushed to her death.”
“You’re kidding me. Why? By who?” I asked, expecting answers.
He shook his head. “It’s unsolved. The information we have about her is vague...it appears the records were sealed—which is not an easy task to do...very uncommon.”
My brain ticked, trying to digest the freakish parallelism between her and I. What a twisted conundrum. Who was this other Brielle?
I wondered if she was identical to me in every way? A twin? Wait, twins don’t share the same names. I planned to figure this out. I wondered who killed her? I wondered if the man who appeared earlier in my doorway had mistaken me for her? What if he returned to finish the job? The fine hairs on my arms stood straight up! Major chills.
My mind raced. I flashed up at the doctor. What was he thinking?
Accessing the situation, I said, “Yes. Unsolved crimes are the worst...her family is probably mortified. If you don’t mind, I would like to see her death records. I’m very interested in figuring out who killed her.” I paused when I realized the doctor wasn’t buying my detective gig. I wasn’t sure why. Of course, I was interested in solving the mystery between she and I. What else could I say?
There had to be a simple explanation. This woman had stolen my identity, made fake birth records then when she died—was killed, her death was logged under my name. No wonder it was all sealed. But, why did she steal my identity in the first place?
I sighed inwardly, there was no convincing the doctor who I was. My knee-jerk reaction was to run, but the pain in my legs told me otherwise. Running was not an option.
“Do you think I’m lying about who I am?” I flat out asked.
He cocked his head, sighed and said, “It’s just the similarities between the two of you are...” His eyes searched for the words. He shrugged. “Well, it’s extremely odd—what are the chances of this—you have to agree.”
“Yes...it is—it’s unbelievable, sure...but, I can certainly prove who I am,” I asserted. “I have my passport and birth certificate at home. I can have one of my friends run me there to get them. I’ll come right back. I have no reason to steal this girl’s identity. I want this mystery solved as much as you do...okay?”
He studied me with suspicious eyes, but hesitated to speak.
“Okay?” I repeated.
Judging from his expression, it appeared that he still believed I had stolen the deceased woman’s identity. And, since I couldn’t remember much, like where I lived, I sensed it would be a problem if I couldn’t reach Nuilley. Where was Nuilley? Why wasn’t she out looking for me? This wasn’t like her. Maybe she had left France, perhaps she’d gone back to the states to visit her mother and stepfather, and I had forgotten that too. That had to be the answer; otherwise, she would have found me by now.
Nuilley was the type that would have demanded that the authorities conduct a massive manhunt if I’d been missing for more than 24 hours. She would have raised major hell until they did. I supposed she didn’t know I was missing yet. You usually have to be MIA for more than 48 hours before any one considers you a missing person. I hadn’t been gone that long.
There was an oppressive silence in the room. Outside was a different story. I could hear a plane in the distance, it was getting close fast, flying overhead. The engine sounded whiney and low to the ground, too low. I wanted to mention it, but hesitated to speak in the same manner he did. We were at a stand off.
The doctor’s eyes traced along the ceiling, following the sound of the plane’s motor; obviously he was concerned about how low it was too.
