“Peter?” I say the word out loud.
I pull myself out of the dream, the fear and uncertainty drifting away from me like cobwebs on a gentle breeze. The dream is over, and yet I'm still shaking.
I sit up, trying to figure out where I'm at when a dog clobbers me and covers my face with kisses, knocking me back onto the bed. He is the reason for the shaking and trembling I felt, I surmise. The bed must have been shaking when the big dog climbed onto the bed and got himself situated, his entire body wiggling from excitement when he saw me there.
Gunner. I remember the dog's name better than I can my own boyfriend's. Yes, I'm pretty sure the man from the dream is real, and that he is – or at least was – my boyfriend. But where is he? Why isn't he looking for me? Why is Jack keeping me from him?
Footsteps come rushing down the hallway and Gunner jumps from the bed, rushing toward Jack, wiggling and whining furiously as he enters the room.
“I'm sorry about that, Sydney,” Jack says. “I didn't think Gunner would come up here without me. Guess I was wrong. He's taken quite a liking to you.”
“It's okay.” I wipe dog slobber from my face.
Jack must notice the frown on my face, because he comes forward with a handkerchief and hands it to me.
“He must really like you,” he says softly. “I know you're not much of a dog person – ”
“It's fine, I'm not mad at him,” I say.
The dog is standing beside Jack and giving me the most pitiful look, as if to apologize for waking me up. Or maybe for drooling all over me, it's impossible to tell which. I reach down and scratch his ears, my frown disappearing as I stroke the soft fur.
“It's nothing,” I say. “I just had a dream, that's all.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack asks. “Care to talk about it?”
Jack joins me on the bed, carefully sitting on the edge, Gunner following close behind. “Who's Peter?” I ask.
Jack freezes and the small smile that had been on his lips slides completely off his face. I can't even hear him breathe for a moment, and he just stares at me, studying my face for a very long time. Finally, he looks away and he answers slowly.
“I believe he's your boyfriend,” he says. “But, I honestly don't know exactly who he is.”
“So, you know of him?”
I arch my eyebrow at him, accusation flashing through my eyes. Jesus. So, I have a boyfriend after all. “I met him, briefly, yes.”
“You met him?” I ask, confusion and anger warring within me. “And you didn't think to tell me about him?”
My rage is suddenly amplified, stamping out all traces of confusion. I roll over, getting up and out of the bed and pace the bedroom. As I walk back and forth in a huff, I pick up my pants and throw them on hastily. It's hard to be taken seriously or hold onto your righteous indignation when you're half-naked. Gunner watches me from the bed, his tail wagging and that doggy smile crossing his face every time I step close to him.
“Sydney, he was the last person to see you before I found you walking down the street with that gash in the back of your head,” Jack says evenly. “I was afraid he might be involved. More afraid that since he hurt you once, he might come back and try to do it again.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“Of course.”
“But you couldn't tell me?”
He sighs, and I assume he's going to fight me on this.
“Yeah, maybe I should have said something before – last night,” he says, sounding miserable. “But, you know what? I tried to stop it. A couple of times, and you begged me – ”
“But I didn't know I had a boyfriend!” I shriek. “That kinda changes the entire equation, doesn't it?”
“A boyfriend who probably put you in the hospital, Syd!” he shouts back. “A boyfriend who left you for dead in freezing temperatures! You were in that hospital for over a week and not once did he try and find you!”
He stands up from the bed and walks over to me, and I stand my ground, narrowing my eyes and gritting my teeth. Jack doesn't scare me, not in the least. Hell, maybe that's stupid of me, considering the fact that he's three times my size and built like football player. I seem to recall him telling me that he was a Marine once, which might help explain his rock-solid body.
Something tells me though, that Jack isn't the person I need to fear. Something tells me that I'm safe with him; that he'll never raise a hand to me, and he'll never hurt me. Those thoughts though, lead me down a path that comes to one inescapable conclusion. If Jack won't hurt me and I have nothing to fear from him, then...
“Do you really think he hurt me?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Peter?”
“I'm pretty sure he did, yeah,” he says. “But I can't prove anything. I ran into you at Daisy's that night. Things were awkward and uncomfortable, so I left you two there. Later, I swung by the cafe again and found you walking down the street like I told you before. Daisy says you left with Peter, and only Peter, and so far, the police can't locate him to ask what happened. So, I'm just filling in the pieces that seem to fit logically, and it doesn't look good for him. But, only you can tell us what happened for sure, Syd.”
Great. Just fucking great. I'm the only one who can solve this mystery. Which is going to be no easy feat since my memories are scrambled inside of my head like the world's messiest omelet.
Jack reaches out to comfort me, and I let him. I want to be in his arms again. Closing my eyes, I relax into him, feel his hard, strong, warm body pressed to mine, and listen to his heart beating steadily. It's comforting and makes me feel safe and protected. Somehow, I feel like this is where I've belonged all along.
“I'm scared, Jack,” I whisper.
“You have nothing to be afraid of, Sydney,” he says. “I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise you that.”
I'm not sure how I can explain to him that Peter doesn't scare me. Maybe he should though, but I can't remember. No, the fear is about not remembering anything. The fear is never getting my memory back. The idea that I might lose entire parts of my life and never be able to recover them again scares me more than anything in the world.
Even big, strong Jack can't save me from that.
ooo000ooo
Neither one of us mention what happened between us again. Which is probably for the best since I really need to try and figure out what the hell happened to me. I don’t need emotions complicating the process.
All we have now are suppositions and speculations; nothing concrete, and certainly nothing we can convict Peter on. I will say though, even though I can't remember anything from that night, I don't have any good feelings toward Peter. When I think of him and recall the face I saw in my dream, I feel – nothing. Only cold. Numb. In fact, the bits and blurbs that come through the haze in my mind aren't happy memories. It all feels so forced and strained.
“Did you ever call my parents?” I ask Jack later that evening as he prepares dinner.
“No, I figured you would, when you were up to it,” he says.
“So, they don't know about the accident?”
Jack shakes his head as he washes his hands. “No, not yet. I don't have their number, for one thing,” he says. “And two, your parents never liked me very much. Figured I'm the last person they'd want to hear from.”
“Do you mind if I call them, after dinner?”
“Call them now, if you can remember their number,” he says.
Oh yeah. I don't know their number either, and the reminder hits me like a ton of bricks. I stare at my hands, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness washing over me again. Tears well up in my eyes and I look down at the floor, shaking my head.
“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a towel hanging on a bar near the sink. He comes over and gently rests a hand on my shoulder. “It's okay. We can look them up. Anything can be found online these days. It won't take much. We'll figure it out.”