“Thank you, Dad.”
“And if you need some extra time off from the store, call me. I may be getting older, but I can still hold down this fort.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” I grinned.
The bell on the door chimed, and a customer walked in. Beneath the counter, the phone rang.
“Better get to work,” Dad said, grabbed the pack of napkins, and headed toward the door.
I waved as I answered the phone and watched him go.
After I hung up the call, I noticed someone hovering near the end of an aisle not too far from the counter.
“Good morning, Maggie.” I called her out and smiled widely. “I didn’t see you come in. How are you?”
She moved forward, carrying a shopping basket filled with things. “I think you were in the back with your father when I came in. The door was open.”
She was here the whole time when Dad and I were talking. She must have heard. We certainly hadn’t been quiet.
“You heard,” I said, not bothering to pretend. Gossip made this town go ‘round.
Besides, Margaret Foster had a right to her curiosity.
Maggie set the basket on the counter between us, peering over the top of a head of leafy lettuce. “You really think it’s her?” she asked, her voice quiet.
This time I knew there were other shoppers in here, so I was quieter as well. “Yes, I do.”
Maggie’s eyes filled with unshed tears and her lower lip wobbled. Margaret always looked put together, her face “always on,” and her brown hair was always styled. But not in an overly done way, just in a way that said she cared about her appearance. Her clothes were casual, just a pair of jeans and a T-shirt bearing the name of our lake.
“Everything you said is true? She still hasn’t recovered any memory?” Then she leaned over the counter to whisper, “And someone tried to kill her?”
I nodded. “Tried to drown her.”
Her voice was hushed. “I’m so ashamed.”
“Why?” I asked, frowning.
“I haven’t been to the hospital. I was afraid it would bring up too many memories. But I was selfish. She’s lost way more than I have.”
“It’s a difficult situation. Besides, up until a couple days ago, she was in a coma.”
“But she’s awake now.”
“Yes, she is.” I smiled. “She’s got some spunk to her. She’s a real fighter.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up. “You really care about her.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I want to help. What can I do?”
First my parents; now Maggie. People were coming around, and I knew once they actually met Amnesia, they would welcome her back.
“Well,” I said, thoughtful, “she needs some clothes. Nothing fancy, not even a lot. All she has is the hospital gown.”
“Poor thing.” Maggie tsked. “I’ll make some calls, get some donations and a few necessities.”
“That would be great.” I smiled. “I’ll take them to her when I go visit.”
“Actually, I’ll take it. I need to visit. It’s time.”
Concern darkened my face, and Maggie saw it instantly.
“I won’t say anything. I understand the situation.”
“Thank you, Maggie. This will mean so much to her.”
“It’s like you said. People in Lake Loch take care of each other. I don’t know where I’d be today if I hadn’t had everyone’s support after my Chris passed.”
I rang up her groceries, and she rushed off to gather clothes for Amnesia, a spark of determination in her eyes.
Despite the fact no one else seemed to believe this was who I believed, they couldn’t prove I was wrong. For now, she was just a victim of something horrible, and she needed help. People were starting to see this, and they would reach out.
It was good enough.
For now.
It seemed more important than ever that I remember. No matter the significance, my brain just wouldn’t cooperate. I turned inward so much sometimes it felt I was losing the present to try and catch up with the past. I bargained with myself, pleaded even, but to no avail.
My mind just wouldn’t give up its secrets. I wondered more than once how bad those hidden memories were if my own mind wouldn’t give them up.
The doctors all said it was a defense mechanism, my own body and mind protecting me from further pain. Part of me was grateful for the protection, but the other part of me was beyond frustrated.
How could I move on if I didn’t know where I’d already been? What if there was a life out there, a life that belonged to me that had been sitting on pause all this time? What if people were waiting for me, wondering where I’d gone?
But those people never came looking. Those people must not care very much.
It was a constant tug-of-war. A constant struggle between knowing and not knowing. Which was better?
It seemed they were both hell.
The thing that bothered me most about not knowing was I couldn’t prove someone was trying to kill me. They still didn’t believe me about the attack, and the more time that went on without another one, the less and less likely it was I would ever convince them.
Hell, some days they almost had me convinced I’d dreamed it all. When that happened, I would think back on what Eddie told me the morning after. Don’t let them change your mind.
True, there was a lot of stuff I didn’t know, but I did know the difference between a dream and reality. I’d dreamed many nights since that first nightmare. All of them were the same: me drowning, floating in an underwater world of quiet and peace. But it wasn’t the kind of peace I liked; it was eerie. Creepy even. And there was always the figure, sometimes a mere shadow—waiting, lurking, trying to claim me with total darkness.
The person never had a face. Their identity was never revealed to me.
Yet I knew, without a doubt, they were real.
The doctors said it was likely a memory trying to surface. A memory of the night someone tried to kill me. I wasn’t sure how I got away. No one was. My only guess would be whatever it was the person hit me with shoved me down deep, and I got lost. They couldn’t find me. The current was strong that night, and it likely saved my life. It pulled me away from the killer to where Eddie eventually found me.
Even though no one believed someone tried to kill me at the hospital (besides Eddie), no one disputed the fact I was almost a victim of murder. It had also been brought up—very gently, of course—I was the recipient of long-term abuse before I ended up in the lake. The condition I was in and a lot of the injuries (healed over and fresh) all pointed toward abuse.
Again, maybe I was better off not knowing. It seemed learning about it all might be more crippling than starting over.
But what about the murderer?
Who were they? What did they want from me and where are they now?
Maybe there wasn’t a murderer at all. Maybe that night I’d just been a victim of circumstance, some random violent act.
It was exhausting to think about. Round and round my mind would go. Between doctor visit after visit, test after test.
I’d been in this hospital for three weeks since I’d woken up, and I was no closer to answers than I was that first day.