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"Jesus .. ." Johann croaked.
Somewhere, a door smacked open. "Ian!" boomed a male voice.
People scattered at the sound. As one, they jerked to their feet and scurried into the hidden corners from which they'd come, like insects sneaking back under cold rocks.
Superintendent Giles Wellsby strode down the hallway, his hand outstretched. "Ian, old boy, what a surprise. Damn fine to see you. After all the Christmas party invitations you'd declined, I thought you'd died."
Ian stared at the man's hand in rising horror. He tried like hell to suppress the childish emotion, but
the more he tried to rein it in, the more it consumed him. It was a simple greeting, he told himself, nothing more. Just a goddamn way to say hello.
Giles came to a stop. "Ian?" The superintendent's slim, colorless face tightened into a disapproving frown.
Ian knew he had to respond, had to respond now. If he didn't, this whole journey would be for nothing. Giles would treat Ian as a pariah instead of a colleague. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the onslaught of images and thrust his gloved hand toward the superintendent. "Giles," he said stiffly. "How have you been?"
Their hands locked. Giles's thoughts slammed into Ian's mind in a jumble of pictures and words and feel-
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ings. What happened to him? Rumors . .. psychic .. . lost his mind ... looks bad ...
"Good to see you, Ian. You look wonderful," Giles said with a toothy smile. He was too much the old-world gentleman to ask the questions that filled his mind, and Ian was glad of it. "The missus was asking about you just the other month."
Ian slid his hand free of Giles's grip. Immediately the images subsided and the headache began. He tried to remember what the superintendent had just asked him, but he couldn't. He looked down at the man, knowing his eyes were as blank as a lunatic's and unable to change it.
"Ian?" Giles prompted.
Johann stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Johann Strassborg."
Giles seemed startled by the interruption. He turned slowly and shook Johann's hand. A frown creased his forehead. "Strassborg? I seem to recall a patient ..." His head snapped up. The color leeched out of his fleshy face.
"I see you remember me," Johann said.
The color returned to Giles's sallow cheeks with a vengeance. He cleared his throat and turned to Ian. "So what brings you to my little corner of the woods after all these years?"
Ian shot Johann a grateful look, then turned to the superintendent. "The last time I was here, you had just taken in a woman who'd fallen from her horse. Hit her head on a rock."
Giles nodded. "Elizabeth."
"I have a similar patient myself. A woman was brought in unconscious. A coma. When she finally came around, she exhibited profound speech problems and . .. other things."
Giles pulled at his pointy chin. "Aphasic?"
"Yes, but it seems to be more than that. Certainly the expected syntax, morphological, and semantic
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problems are in evidence. Beyond that, however, she exhibits a significant mental deficiency. Probably brain damage, but I suppose it could be an unusual form of amnesia."
"Meaning?"
"It's not merely a temporary inability to recall the experiences of her past. It's ... global. Not only does she have no idea of her name, or where she came from, or who she is; she also has no memory of the rudimentary knowledge that she must have learned at one time. She's ... childlike. Infantlike, for Christ's sake. She doesn't know that fire is hot, or that glass is solid, or that a dead mouse is not a toy. She talks to leaves and expects them to answer."
Giles frowned. "A complete loss of all previously learned knowledge as well as a loss of identity. Most unusual. Did you want to send her here for observation? I could certainly-"
"No!"
Giles stiffened and drew back, obviously offended. "Ah, well, then. So what can I do for you?"
