by R. R. Banks
Charlotte.
Her name came to me suddenly, rushing back into my mind as I remembered her noticing that I was looking at her. Her cheeks had reddened, and she had turned away suddenly, scurrying away down the hallway. There had been something about her then that had piqued my interest, making me wonder about her, and I was still wondering about her now as I watched her sleep for a few moments. Why was she on my mountain? What had brought her up this far to a place that I had chosen specifically because of its distance from people? I didn't know what might have brought her to the narrow, dangerous road that led down the mountain, and the thoughts and feelings that were coursing through me were strange and tangled, I couldn't determine if I was glad that she was there, glad to see her again, or if she was an intrusion in the solitude that I had carefully crafted for myself in the lodge.
Scout appeared back at the door to the bedroom and then walked to the bed, hopping up and resuming his position curled up at Charlotte's feet. He looked up at me as if to tell me that my services were no longer needed, and I smiled.
"Alright, boy. You go ahead and watch over her. Make sure she's OK. I'm going to go try to relax a little."
Scout watched me walk out of the room and when I glanced back in after looking away he had his head rested on his feet again. Confident that Charlotte was safe and comfortable for the time being, I walked out of the guest room and through the lodge to the room in the back hall, a room that I often kept locked even though no one else came into the house. Locking it somehow seemed to keep what was inside more secure, as though it couldn't affect me as much when it was locked away. That way I could go into it when I wanted to, when I needed to, and avoid it when I didn't.
Chapter Five
Charlotte
I didn't immediately open my eyes when I woke up. I laid there for a few seconds, feeling strange and disoriented. I couldn't remember falling asleep or what had happened in the minutes before I laid down. I felt the soft pillow beneath my head and the blanket draped over me, and realized that I didn't know where I was or how I had gotten there. I slowly lifted my eyelids, not knowing what I was going to see when my eyes opened fully, and found myself staring at a window. The curtains were pulled back and the space beyond the glass was impenetrably dark. I couldn't see anything beyond the blurry reflection that was created by the light filtering from an open door behind me. I sat up, looking around, trying to orient myself in the space, but there was nothing around me that was even slightly familiar. I didn't know where I was or what had gotten me there. I looked back at the reflection in the window and a sinking feeling came to my belly as unfamiliar eyes stared back at me.
I didn't know who I was.
It was a feeling that I couldn't explain, one that both fell over me heavily and seemed to creep down my body, making me shiver. I felt like I was a visitor within my body, not knowing anything about myself or what was happening to me. I didn't even know how long I had been sleeping or what had happened that caused me to sleep so deeply. As I sat up I noticed an ache in my head and I pressed my hand to it. My shifting on the bed seemed to have disrupted the dog laying at the foot of the bed and he lifted his head to look at me with soulful eyes. I wished that I recognized him. I wished that I knew his name or where he came from. Was he my dog? Had he been a part of my life for a long time? Being curled so close to me as I slept gave me comfort even if I didn't really know anything about him, and I leaned over to stroke his head. He nuzzled me, turning his head so that it rested in my palm.
"I guess I can't just stay here in bed forever," I said to him. "Maybe I'll remember where I am if I look around."
I started to climb out of the bed and noticed the side table. A cup of water sat beside a bottle of pain relievers. I poured a few of the pills out into my palm and popped them into my mouth, chasing them down with a gulp of water. The moment that the water hit my throat I realized how thirsty I was and swallowed down the rest of the cup before getting out of the bed. I had taken a few steps toward the door when I noticed a mirror hanging on the wall. I glanced into it, seeing the same unfamiliar reflection as I had seen in the window pane. This one was clearer, however, and I was able to see a bandage secured across my forehead, explaining the pain that I was feeling. I wondered what had happened and reached up to gingerly pull away the bandage. The cut beneath it was small, giving me a sense of relief, and I covered it back up.
Heading toward the light that was coming into the bedroom through the open door, I started to explore my surroundings. I looked around with every step, waiting for something to trigger my memories, to jog something in my mind that would shake me out of the fog that had fallen over me. The further that I moved away from the bedroom, however, the more disoriented and lost I felt. Nothing looked or felt familiar. The light was coming to me from a large open great room and I stepped into it with a sense of awe. It was gorgeous and expansive, an impressive balance between rustic and exquisite. I walked through it slowly, letting my fingertips run along the back of the couch. The brown leather was like butter beneath my skin and a dark grey and black crocheted blanket draped across one end gave the impression of a casual scene.
The building around me seemed still and quiet, as though there was no one else there with me. I didn't know if I should find that reassuring or disconcerting. Was there supposed to be someone else here with me? If so, who was it? A sudden thought brought my hand to my pocket. My phone was there, and I picked it up. The screen told me that I had no reception and I tucked it away. Just as the phone left my fingertips, a wailing sound from outside startled me. I took a few steps toward a window and peered out. There was a light just outside the window, allowing me to see the fiercely swirling snow. There was another wail and I realized that it was the wind screaming through the trees as it picked up the drifts and sliced through the air. It was obvious that the storm was quite severe, meaning that it would be impossible for me to leave that night.
I moved through the great room and into a smaller den-like room. The great room had featured a tremendous fireplace that took up the majority of one wall, but this room had a large black wood burning stove. There was a fire burning in its belly, sending its comforting warmth out into the room. I was tempted to curl up in one of the large arm chairs positioned on either side of a knotted rug, but the hollow emptiness in my belly kept me moving through the house. I wondered how long it had been since I had eaten. The hunger making my stomach growl made it seem as though it had been quite some time. I continued to explore the sprawling house, eventually finding my way to the kitchen. It was an incredibly strange sensation to wonder where I was and if I belonged here. I didn't know if I was a stranger in this place as I was in my own body, or if this was my home and I simply couldn't remember. I wanted to believe that if I was somewhere that mattered to me, that held precious memories, that I would remember. I wanted to think that I would be able to feel the energy of myself or people who I cared about in the space. Yet at the same time I didn't know who I was or who I cared about, so how would I even know that those memories were there?
I was confusing myself and I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind as I crossed the wide stone floor to the massive refrigerator. I opened it and began to pull things out and spread them across the counter. Then I went to a door that I assumed was a pantry. I opened it and found it to be nothing more than a small closet that contained a coat, a jacket, a pair of boots, and a large trash can. I closed the door and moved across the room to another door. This one did reveal the pantry and I pulled out a few more containers. My hunger seemed to have gotten the best of me as I went to work preparing the different foods that I had taken out. I heard a faint clicking sound and looked toward the entrance to the kitchen to see the black and white dog that had been curled on the bed with me, walking into the kitchen. It was reassuring to see him there with me, almost as though he were guarding me as I tried to navigate where I was and what was happening. I leaned down to pet him, scratching at his neck. My fingers hit a collar and
I ran them around its edge to find the tags hanging at the front of his neck. I lifted them, but only found the engraved confirmation that he had received his vaccinations.
"His name is Scout."
The voice made me jump and I got to my feet quickly, but didn't step away from the dog. He was the only thing that had made me feel safe since I woke up and I didn't want to give up that comfort. I looked at the entrance to a hallway toward the back of the kitchen and saw a man standing there, staring at me. Though his expression was largely emotionless, he didn't look as though he were trying to frighten me, and I tried to keep myself calm.
"Scout?" I asked. I looked down at the dog again and then back at the man. "Really?"
"I know," he said as he stepped into the room. "It's not very creative. But it's the name that he had when I found him at the shelter and he never seemed to want to get used to anything else. He would only respond when I called him Scout, so that's what stuck."
"What other names did you try?" I asked.
"Sir Gawain. Viking. Amadeus."
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was being serious, and quickly realized that he was. I reached down and scratched Scout beneath his chin.
"I think that if I were him I would have only responded to Scout, too."
The man shrugged, stepping up to join me in petting Scout, who looked like he was nearly overcome with the sheer joy of the attention. The man was standing close to me now and I was able to look into his face. He was ruggedly handsome, a strong jaw and a thick beard and mustache making him look as though he was perfectly in place in the backdrop of the woods beyond the window. It was his eyes, though, that truly struck me. I found myself staring at them, feeling held in place by them. There was a flicker of something familiar, a spark in the back of my mind that told me that I had seen those eyes before. The feeling was fleeting though, and I wasn't able to grasp onto it enough to know what it was that I was remembering.
Did I know this man? Was it possible that we had some sort of relationship?
Could he be my husband?
The thought sent an unexpected thrill through me, but as soon as it did, I realized that the chances of that were slim. It was unlikely he would have told me the dog's name when he saw me looking at his tags if we were married. He also probably would have given me a warmer, more concerned greeting when he came into the room. Perhaps a kiss. The chill returned, and I felt my cheeks burn slightly.
Whether he noticed it or not, the man turned away from me and looked around the kitchen at the partially prepared snack that I had been working on when the dog came into the room.
"It looks like you have made yourself right at home," he said.
That was absolute confirmation that my assumption was correct. This wasn't my home. The burning on my cheeks increased and I heard myself stumbling over words, trying to find a way to explain myself.
"I'm sorry," was all that I could come up with.
"It's alright," he said.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, starting to feel a sense of panic forming in my stomach and rushing up my spine, making me feel like my breath was caught in my chest. "I don't remember anything. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I'm sorry."
I didn't know why I was feeling the way that I was and the feeling itself was as frightening as my emotions were apparently interpreting the situation to be. I felt like I needed to escape, to get out of the space and away from the man. There was a voice in the back of my mind, muffled shouting, words that I couldn't decipher but that made my heart clench. It was a memory, but not one that I had any more grasp on than anything else. I didn't know the voice, but it struck me that it didn't seem to be that of the man who was standing in front of me. He held up a hand as if to quiet me and Scout pushed closer to my legs.
"It's alright," he said again. "Calm down. I knew you were here. I'm the one who brought you here."
I took a breath, letting it fill my chest and then letting it out slowly to try to calm my shaking.
"You did?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, taking a cautious step toward me. "A few hours ago."
I shook my head, starting to feel even more confused than I had been.
"Why did you bring me here? What happened?"
"Don't be scared," he said. "You're not being held captive. I would say that you could leave at any time, but I think if you took a glance out the window you would see that that's not really the case."
"I saw," I said, nodding. "That's a pretty serious storm."
"It is," he agreed. "And incidentally, not only what is holding you here, not me, but what made it necessary for you to be here in the first place."
I knew that he was trying to be lighthearted and joke with me, but the more that he spoke, the more disoriented I felt.
"What?" I asked.
"How is your head feeling?" he asked.
"It hurts a little," I admitted.
"Come let me look at your forehead."
He gestured toward the small table that was nestled in a picture window at the front of the room. I sat down on one of the cushioned chairs and ran my fingers absently through Scout's fur as he rested his head on my lap. The man carefully peeled away the bandage and I felt him gently touching around the cut.
"It looks alright," he said. "It's not red or swollen, which is good."
"Are you a doctor?" I asked.
I realized with a touch of bemusement that I had asked that question sarcastically many times before, but this time I wasn't being nasty or trying to call someone out for acting as though they knew more than they did. This time, though, it was a completely genuine question.
Was that a memory, or just an impression of the type of person I am?
The man shook his head.
"Not a doctor," he said. "But when you live up here, you're pretty much in the wild. It's beneficial to pick up at least a cursory knowledge of first aid and potential injuries. I cleaned and dressed the cut to reduce the chances of infection. My only concern is a concussion. I've seen enough of them to be wary of the symptoms."
"You've seen a lot of concussions on the mountain?" I asked.
He looked at me and I saw his warm green eyes darken slightly, but he didn't respond.
"You said that you can't remember anything?" he asked, putting the bandage back in place.
I shook my head.
"No," I said. "Nothing. Was I drinking last night…. or earlier tonight?"
"Not that I know of," he said.
This startled me.
"You weren't with me?"
"No," he said. "I found your car crashed into a tree that fell during the storm. It's blocking the only access road heading down the mountain. You must not have been listening to the radio. There were warnings about it being there."
"I don't know if I heard them or not," I said. "I don't know I would have gone down that road if I had."
"You must have had your reasons," he said. "My name is Micah."
His introduction was abrupt, almost as though he realized that he hadn't given me his name and felt like we had gotten well beyond the point where we should at least know each other's names.
Unfortunately, I didn't know mine.
I stared at him, my mouth slightly open as if I was willing the name to come out spontaneously. After several seconds, I shook my head.
"I don't remember," I said. I felt ridiculous saying it. Your name isn't something that you remember. It's simply something that is a part of you. At least, it should be. "I don't know," I corrected myself.
Micah looked at me for a few long seconds and I felt heat creeping up the back of my neck and across my chest. I knew that his sultry eyes and the shape of his broad shoulders and muscled chest through his shirt weren't what I should be thinking about at that moment, but I couldn't tame the thoughts that were filling my mind. The flicker of familiarity was in his eyes again and I remembered that he said that I passed out after he found me. I wondered if I was remembering the brief moment I must have
looked at him before going unconscious. Did I have my memory then? Was I myself in that moment?
"Charlotte," he said. "Do you think that your name might be Charlotte?"
I thought about it for a few seconds, letting the sound of the name tumble around in my thoughts. I was in an interesting position, one that I realized most people would never experience. I could literally create myself. I could determine who and what I was. Yet as I sat there looking at Micah, all I could think about was the touch of his hands on my skin and wanting to feel more. I told myself that this was a good thing. Somewhere deep inside me, a place where I couldn't yet touch, was the person I really was, and my mind was clinging to it, not allowing me to erase it completely. I thought about the name that he had said again.
Charlotte.
Something about the name felt comfortable, like it fit. Whether it was truly my name or not, it was something and I would go with it for now. I nodded.
"Alright," I said.
"Alright?" he asked.
"I don't know, but I like the way it sounds."
Chapter Six
Micah
Charlotte, if it was really her, hadn't reacted to my name, but she hadn't reacted much to hers, either. I hadn't gotten the confirmation about her identity that I had hoped for, but the more time that I spent close to her, the more confident I was that she was exactly who I thought. Looking into her eyes gave me the same curious, undeniable pull that I had felt each time that I saw her in the hallway or that one time when I glanced into the stands during a game and saw her sitting, apart from the rest of the crowd, watching. I never knew if she was actually watching me or if she was just there, but seeing her sitting there had been unlike any other time that I had looked into the crowd. I had been accustomed to the praise then. The screaming of the girls and the shouts of the guys fueled me, and I would look into the stands and pull out the individual faces, making tallies of the people who had come to watch me dominate the field. That night had been different. When I saw her, everything else faded. The cheers became white noise and the faces of everyone else in the stands became nothing but a blur. Only she stood out.
