“Baby”—Quinten cupped her face—“whatever we find out, just remember you’re not alone.” He kissed her forehead. “We’re together, Saige.”
Saige searched his eyes, seeing pain and worry in the hidden depths, but she didn’t focus on that. She focused on the love she saw shining bright in his eyes. Reaching up, Saige gave him a lingering hug, and whispered. “I love you.”
Intertwining their fingers together, she threw him a weak smile and turned to the hospital. The place didn’t look welcoming. In fact, it looked like something out of a horror movie or The X-Files. If the sun hadn’t been blazing down on them, she would have run the other way, regardless of what she wanted to know.
The three-story building was a dirty grey stone with small square windows that ran the length of each floor. There was no definitive shape to the structure and it looked like it had been dropped into place in the middle of nowhere.
As they approached the only door that they could see, Saige gripped Quinten’s hand tightly, letting him lead her inside to the reception desk, which was a surprise.
The small area had pale yellow walls with white trim. Colorful flowers in a vase sat on the corner of the receptionist’s desk, and the chairs for visitors looked welcoming and comfortable—such a contrast from the outside of the building.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked, dressed casually in a white skirt with splashes of color, and a plain, pink sweater.
Saige blinked, and cleared her throat. “We don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering if Doctor Erikson was available to see us for a few minutes?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry but Doctor Erikson is the director and I’m afraid you’ll have to make an appointment if you wish to talk to him.”
“Please,” Saige begged. “I was a patient of Doctor Erikson’s for two years. I left around six years ago.” Saige looked at Quinten, who remained silent during the exchange, but she felt his presence and knew that he was with her.
“All I can do is let him know you are here, but I can’t promise anything. What name should I give him?” she asked, her pen poised over the notebook on the clear desk.
“Saige Lockwood.”
The pen slipped as she gave her name. Saige glanced at Quinten, who frowned at the young woman.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” The woman got up and, after punching in a series of numbers by the door, disappeared through it.
“What...” Saige started.
“I think she recognized your name. But why?”
Saige shook her head as the door opened again, and this time a man who looked to be in his sixties followed. He stared at Saige for a few seconds before he indicated that they should follow him.
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as the security door closed behind them. If Quinten hadn’t been with her, she doubted she’d have been so willing because, although the place didn’t look as frightening inside as out, it gave her the chills.
“Who are you?” Quinten asked bluntly, which surprised a chuckle out of her. She didn’t think she’d find amusement in this place.
The man’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, and Saige knew. “Doctor Erikson.” A memory teased her mind but was gone before it became clear. She’d talked to this man during the two weeks that she remembered, but he’d been a lot different back then. Now he seemed to have aged about twenty years.
“Yes,” he confirmed, and showed them into an office that looked to have seen better days. “Sorry about the mess. I couldn’t find something.” He cleared his throat and indicated with his arm that they should sit.
The silence stretched on until the doctor dipped his head and gazed at his entwined hands on the desk. “I’m going to be blunt so that I don’t waste anyone’s time. You’re here because you want to know why you spent two years in this facility.”
Saige nodded and clung to Quinten’s hand. The doctor noticed and stared at Quinten. “I’m glad that you’re finally together.” He turned to Saige and winced. “When you were first brought here, you didn’t speak and would spend hours staring into space. A week later, it was as though you’d woken up. That’s the only way to describe it. You started asking for that young man.” He nodded toward Quinten. “When he didn’t come, you started to cry and beg for a cell phone. You didn’t seem to remember what had previously happened—the abduction or selecting Mr. Peterson as your attacker. Your father didn’t like how it distressed you not having Mr. Peterson with you.”
“So, you’re telling me that...”
“That you thought he abandoned you. That’s what your father wanted you to think.”