Dr. Venn leaned forward. “We’ve been speaking with him during his wakeful periods.”
“So have I.”
“He is able to understand language and answer simple questions. His speech is slow, but that is not unexpected. He recognizes common objects and can recall factual information.”
I waited.
“He does not appear to understand the current date,” Dr. Venn continued.
Leah’s fingers locked around mine.
“What date does he think it is?” she asked.
“Six years ago.”
My mind refused the number.
“He believes he is twenty-seven,” the doctor said. “He thinks he is living in Denver and working for a vehicle conversion company.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“That was before he came back here,” Leah whispered.
“Yes.”
“Before he met me,” I said.
Dr. Venn looked at me.
“Before he met you,” he confirmed.
I released Leah’s hand and stood.
There was nowhere to go. I walked to the window, which overlooked a service roof crowded with ventilation units.
“What do you call it?” I asked.
“Retrograde amnesia.”
“Is it permanent?”
“We cannot know yet.”
“When will you know?”
“There is no reliable timetable. Memories may return quickly, gradually, incompletely, or not at all.”
I turned.
“He remembered Leah’s name after we told him.”
“That may indicate he retained the new information. We’ll test that. His ability to form new memories is as important as the loss of old ones.”
“You said he remembers facts.”
“Some facts. He knows where he grew up. He remembers his training. He recalls Denver and his employment there. The missing period appears to include approximately the last six years, though we have not established a precise boundary.”
Five years with me.
