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Her questions strike something inside me, though I can’t quite figure out what. I know the trauma has locked her memories away, but can she really not understand one human being wanting to help another? Isn’t that a basic theme of human existence?
“Because you’re frightened, for one, and I’m someone you can trust. And because I feel compelled to do so.” Until we figure out who she is, she has nobody. On some level, I can relate. There’s also the missing piece of what she was doing on my property, and I’m damn determined to find that answer out. Though, right now doesn’t feel like the best time to ask.
She reverts to nonverbal and simply nods. Huh. I was expecting more questions than that.
I set about doing as I said and bring the basin to the table beside her bed. I scoot it within her reach, and as carefully as I can without touching her or applying any pressure, I take off the restraint on her right wrist. I let it fall loosely to the bed and step back to the chair I sat in before. She hesitates, glancing back and forth between me and the basin several times before she tentatively swishes around for the washcloth. I look away as a weak attempt to give her some privacy. A better man would leave the room. Instead, I strike up another question while she’s somewhat distracted.
“What do you know about the area you were picked up in?”
She keeps stroking the rag across her arm as if I hadn’t spoken. It’s strange how some questions startle her and others don’t. There’s no pattern to it.
“No.” She answers at last, dipping the rag back into the warm water. My body turns stiff when she lifts the gown, completely exposing her bottom half, and places the rag on the top of her left thigh. She works slowly, methodically as she runs the rag down her thigh to her knee and back up to the crease that meets her hip. Water drips down the curves of her leg in rivulets, but she doesn’t seem to mind the mess. I’m shocked speechless when I lift my eyes and see her watching herself with a solemn expression as if what she’s showing off is something normal.
I clear my throat and turn my head away, still unsure how to react to her exposing herself so easily without an ounce of embarrassment.
“I was just walking,” she finishes. I turn my head back to her and let out a relieved sigh when I see she’s covered herself again.
Walking… She remembers walking but not running through my yard? Is she lying, or is this truly not the same person who was outside my house that night? I lean back in my chair. “Why did they pick you up if you were just walking?”
Her answer comes quicker this time. “They said I was trespassing.”
“Were you?”
Her eyes dart up to mine, and my breath catches at the direct eye contact. “No. I was lost.”
I flick my gaze back down to the bandages on her feet. She follows my eyes with her own.
“I wasn’t wearing any shoes, I guess. I don’t really remember.”
“Do you have shoes?” The question seems to come out of nowhere, but her answer could tell me a lot.
“Who doesn’t have shoes?” she replies in a tone that makes me seem like a complete idiot. Okay, so that backfired. I bite back another sigh. “Is there anything you remember? Anything at all?”
Her pause lasts half a second. “No. I really don’t, Detective. I’m sorry.”
I want to end this on a positive note for her even though I’ll carry the frustration of the visit around for a while. It feels like another loss. I power through the pain in order to end this and head home.
“That’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters. Listen to your doctors and get some rest. They’re here to help you.” With that parting statement, I push up from the arms of the chair and rise slowly as to not startle her.
She looks up at me with wide, fearful eyes, and whispers in a trembling voice, “And you?”
My brows knit together. “I’m sorry?”
“Y-you’ll be here, too, right? To help?”
“Miss.” Goddammit, I wish I knew her name. My stomach muscles clench with anxiety.
“Before, you said you’d like to help. Does that mean you’ll come back? To help me?”
Fuck. I pull on a kind smile, wondering what mess I’ve gotten myself into. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll come back?” she asks again. Her voice is so quiet and small that I don’t have it in me to tell her the truth.
“Sure,” I tell her, not having the heart to share that I have no intention of coming back.
