Two taps.
“Of course you don’t. Neither do I.” I sighed. “Do you think I’ll get my memory back?” I asked. The dove kept silent. “Is someone looking for me?” More silence.
“Hey, why aren’t you talking to me?”
Three taps.
“Okay, perhaps I’m asking questions you can’t answer.” I looked around the room, trying to think of something else to ask.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
One tap.
“Good for you! I wonder if I have one. Is it tomayto or tomahto? . . . Oh, you can’t really answer that, can you?”
One tap.
“Do you eat chicken?”
Two taps.
“No, of course you don’t. Is the Earth flat?”
Two taps.
“Duh!”
“Hold on, I’ve got a good one. Did aliens build the Pyramids?” He paused.
One tap!
“Ha! I knew it! I banged my hand on the bed and my dove friend flew away and I found myself all alone. “Maybe that was too controversial . . .”
I looked at the books and magazines on the table and noticed that Ntethelelo had also left a toothbrush and toothpaste for me. I ran my tongue over my teeth and cringed. I should use that, soon. I grabbed the book on the top of the pile. The striking drawing of an anatomically correct heart on the cover immediately captured my attention. Snippets of rave reviews and a big gold sticker on the front saying that the book was shortlisted for something further drew me in.
The Heart is Just a Muscleby Becca Thorne.
I turned the book over and read the blurb on the back. It sounded morbid and certainly not something I wanted to read at this present juncture in my life. I flipped the cover open to see who would have written such a book and a black-and-white photo of the serious-looking author gazed back at me. She looked intense. Dark hair. Black framed glasses. No smile. She looked intimidating . . .but familiar.Perhaps this Becca Thorne was my favorite author, perhaps I’d seen her on TV, perhaps she and I had gone to junior school together and had played on the swings as children? I had no idea. I put the book back on the table and picked up a magazine, immediately rolling my eyes at it.
“ ‘Fitness Now,’ ” I read. As if I was going to jump out of bed and learn to run a marathon in three months, strengthen my core in six easy moves and get a sexy butt before summer. Inside, tanned, toned people stared back at me from the pages. I turned the pages randomly, nothing really grabbing my attention until . . .
Frankie’s Fitness Protein Shake.I stared at the full-page advert in my hands. A beautiful blonde woman drinking a shake, glowing with sweat from a workout, a towel draped over her shoulder and a skipping rope dangling from one hand. I pulled the magazine away and brought it back up towards my face a few times as that same feeling of familiarity flicked on and off inside.
I’m sure this ad is everywhere. I’d probably seen it a million times before. I closed the magazine and dropped it back onto the table. I was grateful to Ntethelelo for trying, but this really wasn’t what I wanted to be doing right now.
I scanned the windowsill, to see if my dove friend had returned but he hadn’t. He was gone and I was all alone! That dark, panicky feeling started building inside me and I tried to push it down.
“Shit!” The panic rose faster now. Ineededto be out of bed and, suddenly, it felt like I couldn’t sit in it a second longer. I pulled the sheets back and swung my legs over the side. They felt good on the ground. It made me feel more stable than I’d felt since Noah’s hand had held mine.
Noah’s hand. . . I longed for it. For something to make me feel less alone. I grabbed my drip bag, attached it to the steel pole then wheeled the pole with me.Wait. . . how did I know how to do that? I turned and eyed the drip, feeling as if a memory was about to come to me, only it didn’t. I hobbled to the door and pushed it open. The corridor that ran to my left and right was long, cold-looking and empty and . . .
Blood!
Someone covered in blood.
I jerked my head back as something, a memory, a little flash of an image, came back to me. I tried to hold onto it, but it fluttered away like a butterfly being pulled by the wind. The corridor was deserted, and yet I felt too terrified to walk out into it. I pulled the door closed and rushed to the other side of the room. I went to the chair that my clothes were on and picked up the watch that lay on top. The screen lit up. At least I would be able to tell the time now. I slipped the watch back on and the familiarity of the band around my arm made me feel better. I made my way back to the bed and climbed in.
CHAPTER 7
