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My hand literally fucking itches to reach across the table and grab hers. The devastation and fear on her face are nearly my undoing. No one, fucking no one, but especially a woman, should every carry that look. I fucking hate it and want to obliterate the person who put it there.
“You don’t remember anything else? Maybe a landmark or something on the floor or walls that can help us determine where you were? Any noises? Try to use your other senses.”
Her eyes close again, and they flicker back and forth beneath the closed lids as if she is trying to go back to her dream and look around.
“No.” She shakes her head then opens her eyes. “Everything is just so faded.”
I want to growl in frustration, but I force back the need.
“And no other memories of your life before three weeks ago?”
I ask this question every time I come here, hoping the answer will be different than the time before. But it never is, and this time is no different.
She rubs her temples as if warding off a headache. “No.”
I blow out a breath to try to calm the blood rushing through my veins.
This case has become personal to me. Maybe it’s because it reminds me so much of Aislin’s. The thought has crossed my mind that the two could be related, but something just doesn’t fit. I don’t see the person who took Aislin simply letting Doe go. It doesn’t match his profile.
I bring my eyes back to Doe to find her watching me. I force a smile to my face and hold the book up. “Want to give it a go?”
She looks at the book wearily but with a hint of relief at the change of topic.
“I don’t know if I can.”
I get up from my seat and walk around to her side. Before sitting, I ask, “May I?” Using the book, I point at a spot on the bench a foot away from her. It takes her a minute, but then she gives me permission to sit.
Slowly, so as not to spook her, I take a seat, making sure to keep that foot of distance between us. I set the opened book down in front of her.
“I can help with the words you don’t remember.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to try, or rather, she’s too scared to try and fail, but being the strong person she is, she pulls in a deep breath and reaches out for the book.
She starts out stilted, saying the words slowly. I help her with a few words, but for the most part, she’s got it down. I wonder if her slowness with reading is due to her memory loss or lack of schooling. It would fit in with the memory loss, since there seems to be many things she doesn’t remember. Basic things like playing cards or working a television remote.
I notice her eyes flicker to me every few minutes. I’m unsure if it’s because she’s making sure I’m keeping my distance or if it’s for some other reason. I keep my eyes on her, enjoying watching and listening to her read.
She’s read one full chapter when I notice her eyes are starting to droop. I feel a pang of guilt for keeping her out so long. She’s still recovering, so her body’s strength isn’t up to par yet.
“We need to get you back inside so you can rest,” I tell her.
She dog-ears the page where she stops and sets the book down then places her hands on top. She looks around for a moment before bringing her eyes to me.
“Thank you for bringing me out here. It’s nice to sit outside, feeling the breeze on my face and smelling the flowers.”
As if hearing her words, a gust of wind hits us, and she closes her eyes and tips her head back. A small smile plays on her lips, and a few loose strands of hair whip in her face. One gets snagged on her bottom lip, and she reaches out to tug it free. It’s nice to see her look so free when she always appears so locked within herself.
“My pleasure,” I tell her, and she lifts her head to look at me again. “We’ll come back out the next time I’m here if you want.”
She nods. “I want.”
Chuckling lightly, I get up from the bench. “You got it.”
I grab the book from the table, and we both carry our empty cups to the trash can. Doe stays quiet as we make our way across the lawn and in through the sliding doors; I’m sure reflecting over the day. I let her have her silence.
By the time we step off the elevator, she seems to be dragging her feet. Her eyes look red and tired. If I knew she wouldn’t freak out, I’d scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way, but I know that would be a big no-no. A couple of the nurses greet us as we pass by the nurses’ station.
I place the book down on the table by the bed as Doe takes a seat on the edge.
