by ML Gardner
After she left I pulled my green bag from under my bed. I was thankful, so thankful, I hadn’t taken it. Dmitri would have grabbed it, returned it to Mickey and my secret found out. What would he have done? I sat on the edge of my bed rolling the amber bottle between my hands.
He’d kill me. Plain and simple. An idea, so simple in design that it shocked me, floated into my mind. What would he do if I walked to his office with my bag and told him? Poured it out on his desk, took a drink and told him he could go straight to hell. It was suicide. But isn’t that what I was hoping for with Ivan? To end this dark hollow existence?
I stood up. It was worth trying. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d just shoot me. I took two steps and stopped cold. He’d ask where I got it from. He’d find out Gina had been getting it for me and he’d kill Gina, too. But then, if she knew what Mickey was having done to me and did nothing to stop it, maybe she deserved it.
No. I couldn’t be responsible for one more death. And to commit suicide at Mickey’s hand would take her along with me. I sat back on my bed with a huff, jostling the bag. All the bottles clinked together. All four of them. I turned to them slowly, wondering. Was four enough?
I opened one bottle and stared at it. It might be enough. Either way, there was no sense in wasting time wondering. I drained one bottle and slipped it inside the bag. Then the second. I stopped for a moment to think about Heaven. There wasn’t a place for me there, so it didn’t matter. I drained the third. And, as I drank the last bottle, I wondered what Hell would be like. I looked around the room. It couldn’t be worse than here. I laid back and just…waited.
Gina returned with some things to clean my wounds and of course, medicine. She gave me a long drink. It didn’t matter. She pushed the hair off my forehead and began talking softly. Asking me questions. Already her voice was becoming distant and garbled. She started cleaning the wounds on my face. I felt warm and relaxed as I closed my eyes. I saw bright lights and odd shapes flashing against the dark. It was too late to regret what I’d done. I’d already begun to feel myself floating away.
I had flashing memories of this same kind of detachment from my body months ago when I was bloody and raw from whatever accident that left me nameless. It seemed so familiar as Gina’s hands worked. Comforting, even. I struggled to open my eyes and as I pried them open the smallest slit, Gina’s voice was no longer hers. Her face changed too, morphing into someone I recognized as the first face I’d seen. The first face I remembered in the open space that was my past.
“I missed you so much, Stewart,” Elizabeth whispered, leaning over to kiss me softly. My eyes fluttered and I tried to focus on the face above me.
“Your hair has grown so,” she said running her fingers through it slowly. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll cut it for you, okay? Just like it used to be.” She pushed the hair away from my face, smiling sweetly at me. It took all my energy to speak, and I’m still not sure if I was speaking or if I was simply remembering.
“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are,” I said and tried to look around. My dank room had begun to sparkle bright and clean. It was her bedroom and I remembered being here. It was painted white, with a white vanity in the corner, pink floral bedcovers and fluffy white lace curtains pulled back from the partially opened window.
“Where am I?” I asked. This woman obviously appeared to not only know me, but also love me. Maybe she knew where I belonged. Maybe I belonged to her.
“It’s alright, Stewart. I don’t expect you to recognize me. The doctor came by everyday you were unconscious. He said you had most likely lost your memory and we should be prepared for the possibility that you may not ever get it back,” she said.
“How?” I asked desperately. “How did I lose my memory?”
She sat on the bedside facing me and smoothed the covers over my chest.
“You went out fishing with my father last week. He wanted to spend some time with you, get to know you more before the wedding and talk to you about getting into the family business. How did we know you'd end up being terribly seasick?" She smiled sympathetically. "Anyway, one of the sail poles broke and swung loose hitting you in the head. It knocked you overboard and you almost drowned. My father pulled you out of the ocean. You had pneumonia and didn’t wake up for three days. They weren’t sure you’d make it. But I knew you’d pull through.” She smiled and held my hand tight. “I knew you’d come back to me.”
“Did you say wedding?” I asked with a high pitch of alarm, pulling my hand away and trying to push up on my elbows.
“Yes, Stewart. We’re to be married this fall.” She smiled. “But I guess you wouldn’t remember that, either,” she said sadly.
“No…No, I don’t…I can’t marry you…I don’t even know you.”
“I’ll tell you everything, Stewart. Everything you forgot. And we can push the wedding to winter if you need to.” She pulled back the bedcovers to my waist. “The important thing is that you’re back…safe, with me…forever.” Elizabeth’s voice was reassuring as Gina’s hands cleaned the cuts and scrapes on my ribs. The two faces blended together like a mirage, floated apart while speaking in unison and blended as one again. It made me dizzy.
“Is that my name? Stewart?” I whispered.
“Yes, that’s your name.” She nudged me to move over allowing her room to lie beside me. “You’re Stewart and I’m Elizabeth. And we’ll be married this fall,” she repeated insistently as she slid her hand over my bare chest.
The skin on my arms prickled and the hairs raised as an unnerving shiver ran through me. I tried to move away from her and she lifted her head from my shoulder with a dejected look.
“What’s wrong, Stewart?” she asked innocently.
“I’m sorry…I just…this doesn’t feel right.” I was slurring now, struggling to stay conscious.
“It’s just because you don’t remember me,” she said, grabbing my arm. “You’ll get used to me again. It won’t seem so strange to have me so close after awhile, I promise. Just give it time,” she insisted and continued to run her hand over me, claiming me as her own. She touched my chest, neck and the sides of my face. She slid her hand up and over, placing her palm over my nose. Splaying her fingers wide she began to press down, slowly and steadily smashing my face, all while smiling at me. My nose started to bleed and when I opened my mouth to scream she turned her hand, sticking her fingers in my mouth.
“Say you’re mine, Stewart. Say it or I’ll make you say it.” Her fingers slid deep into my mouth, digging into my throat. I gagged, unable to breathe. I tried to fight her off but was too weak. There were two of them again. Gina and Elizabeth. Both standing over me. Both trying to gag me to death, together. I fought the urge to throw up. I could only hold out for so long. I needed to breathe. I felt hands on my back, rolling me onto my side and got sick. I was only barely clinging to awareness. After the wave passed the fingers were back, only they were Gina’s this time, poking and digging until I threw up again. And again.
I woke up the next day. Gina was furious with me.
“Well, unless you want to experience that again, I’d back off your cups there, Aryl.”
He had had a difficult time getting the last of the story out, intoxicated as he was. But Sloan understood why. It couldn’t be easy talking about the lowest moment in your life. Being weak and vulnerable and completely giving up. But still, if Sloan was going to bring him back alive, he’d better get him to stop and sleep it off a bit.
“People are…horrible. You can’t imagine the things they’ll do.”
“Aryl. I know it’s hard but don’t let this experience make you lose your faith in humanity. All people aren’t like Mickey and Gina. You have to know that.”
“Yes, they are,” he said quietly. “Under the right circumstances, everyone has it in them to be like that.”
“Why don’t we call it a night,” Sloan suggested.
“But it’s not even sunrise yet.” Aryl gave an exaggerated blink.
>
“I know, but I’m tired. Let’s just get a nap and then we can pick this back up.”
“We’ll be to Boston in…” Aryl stared at the clock but the numbers danced around, not making any sense to him.
“We will be there in thirty-six hours. Roughly. We have plenty of time.”
Aryl looked as if he wanted to protest, but lacked the will to commit the energy.
“Fine,” he whispered and pushed to standing, pulling his shirt over his head clumsily as he wobbled his way to the bed. He fell onto his back and within moments began snoring heavily.
Sloan flipped open his notebook and began writing furiously, trying to capture every detail of Aryl’s story. He felt heavy eyed as the sun rose, but determined as he was to get it all out before sleeping, he gave his face a hard rub and continued on.
He was recounting the strange memory or hallucination Aryl spoke of when he heard a strangled noise and turned to the bed. Aryl’s stomach was roiling like waves on an ocean. In a split second, and as Aryl gagged, Sloan realized that he was vomiting in his sleep. He jumped out of the chair so quickly that he tripped and fell, sprawling out on the carpet and banging his shin on the bedframe in the process. He didn’t have time to curse and hold it. He threw himself on the bed and pushed Aryl over.
“Oh, no you don’t! I’m taking you off this ship alive.”
Out spilled what was blocking his airway. Sloan held onto his shoulders, keeping him on his side as he coughed and sputtered. His body desperately tried to get back into the natural rhythm of breathing.
Sloan tried to wake him up afterward, to no avail. He grumbled under his breath, “If you had nine lives, Aryl Sullivan, I’d say you’re about out now.” He positioned him on his side. Sitting the length of his own bed with his notebook resting on his outstretched legs, he watched Aryl until he woke up late in the afternoon.
***
Aryl groaned as he opened his eyes. Then he sniffed and groaned louder.
“Yeah, I’ve been sitting with that smell for the last nine hours,” Sloan said.
“I’m so sorry.”
Sloan opened his mouth to speak but stopped, glancing at the mess and the shamed look on Aryl’s face. It wouldn’t do any good to ridicule him or rub it in his face that he’d saved his life.
“Just promise me you won’t do anything like that again. Moderation, Aryl. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he whispered, eyes squeezing against his throbbing head. “I’ll go get some towels.”
“No, I’ll get housekeeping to take care of it while we go get something to eat. I’ll tell them you were seasick or something.” He glanced at his watch. “They just started serving dinner. We’re actually going to buy our food tonight. But first we’re going to go to the washroom and get cleaned up.”
Later, sitting at a table in the corner of the dining hall, Sloan caught Aryl looking at him too frequently.
“Got something on your mind?”
“Have you slept at all?”
“No. I was watching you. In case you got sick again.”
“Thank you,” Aryl said, pushing his food around his plate.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You saved my life. I guess that entitles you to whatever you want.” Aryl tried to lighten the mood with a smile.
“Elizabeth…was that a memory or a hallucination.”
“Mostly a memory, I think.”
“Until the end?”
“Yes. Gina figured it out. I don’t know how. Either intuition or she found all the empty bottles…I don’t know. She told me later she tried to wake me up and when she couldn’t, she made me throw up.”
“You said she was mad at you when you woke up?”
Aryl grew very still. “Yeah.”
“Did you have a fight?”
“No. When I woke up she was sitting in the corner of the room. Crying. I didn’t know how to deal with it and apparently neither did she.”
“I’m guessing a girl like Gina doesn’t cry easily.”
“Not real tears, no.”
“So, is there anything else you can remember about Elizabeth?”
Aryl seemed hesitant to go into those memories and Sloan leaned forward. “I only ask because I have a hunch about something. If you could just tell me what else you remember? Her father. What was his name?”
Aryl didn’t want to, but it was the least he could do after Sloan sat and watched him all day in a reeking cabin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, Elizabeth
It was cold. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The bright light spilling from the window hurt and I tried to turn away from it.
White ceiling…white walls…white curtains…it was so bright, so quiet. And cold.
Shivering, I closed my eyes. I felt trapped under the weight of the blankets. Trying to lift my arm, I heard desperate screams in every joint and muscle. A bead of sweat rolled down my temple and I felt the presence of others around me.
Opened my eyes again. No one was there. I could see each beat of my heart in the light that stung my eyes.
I closed them again. Lightning streaked through my back, gouging and burning. The images that flashed in my mind made me whimper. I wanted to run, to swim, I needed help.
I opened my eyes again. She was there, smiling.
“Take this. It’ll make you feel better.” I did. It burned my throat and belly and made me warm.
I closed my eyes and my mind and mercifully detached from my body. Knives no longer stabbed my back and the screaming in my shoulders and hips began to subside. I drifted off in sweet relief, hoping I wouldn’t wake up again.
When I felt the pain again, a different woman was there.
With a cool cloth, she talked to me, trying to stir me awake. After several moments, I forced my eyes to open slowly.
“Where am I?” I croaked weakly.
“I’m Cecile. That’s my daughter Elizabeth.” She motioned toward the door and Elizabeth stepped partially out of the shadows. “My husband pulled you from the ocean. Your boat sank and you near drown.” She put a hand to my head and it was ice cold. I was confused as my eyes moved about the room.
“Where am I?” I repeated.
“What’s your name, young man?” she asked, touching a cool cloth to my head, making me jump.
“That’s freezing,” I whispered.
“You’re burning up with fever. Now, open your mouth, take the medicine.” I did and grimaced at the foul liquid. “The worse it tastes, the better it works,” she said.
Cecile began a cold water sponge bath that quickly sent me into violent shivers, pushing me to the verge of losing consciousness again.
“Please stop. It hurts,” I whispered as my eyelids slowly sank.
“Who are you?” Cecile asked, shaking my shoulder to rouse me. “What’s your name?”
I concentrated as hard as I could. Nothing.
“I don’t know,” I breathed. She sighed and sat back with her hands in her lap.
“Tomorrow I can go into town and talk to the Sheriff.”
“No, you won’t,” Elizabeth said calmly. She sat on the side of the bed, placed a hand softly on my knee. “He’s mine. I’m keeping him.”
“He belongs somewhere, Elizabeth. He must have a family, people who miss him. Your father told you we would only see him recovered.”
“He belongs with me.”
I heard the start of Cecile’s protest but the words became slurred and distorted. I welcomed the sleep.
Time moved quickly, playing out like a picture show without distinct sound and everyone moving far too quickly. It made me nauseous, watching from behind my closed eyes, their fast, jerky movements unable to even read their lips.
Finally things began to slow. A bird outside the window whose chirp sounded like one long siren waned, until finally I could hear each individual chirp. The light stopped pulsing and my own thoughts floated through my mind at a pace I could understand. I began to make out words and w
as able to follow their actions.
Still, what Elizabeth was saying, looking down on me with adoration, felt wrong. It scared me. I tried to protest and she made me sleep again.
A lengthy darkness only seemed like a blink after I opened my eyes again. I don’t know how long that went on. Light, dark. Light, dark.
Cecile opened the door and slipped inside. She looked over her shoulder, put her palm to the door and closed it carefully. Silently.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about trying to get up when the dizziness passed.
“We must hurry,” she whispered, shoving some clothes in my arms. “She’s sleeping. You have to leave.”
“Leave? Where am I going to go?”
“Into town. They’ll know what to do with you there.”
“But, I don’t—”
“You don’t understand!” she hissed. Leaning over, inches from my ear, she whispered. “You aren’t safe here. Elizabeth isn’t right. She thinks you’re someone else. It isn’t safe.”
She turned quickly and took a bag from the closet, wincing at the sound it made. Gathering the tattered clothes I’d arrived in, she stuffed them inside.
She turned at the painful grunt I made as I tried to put on my pants.
“I’m sorry to turn you out like this. I know you’re still hurting.” She grabbed the bottle of medicine from the bedside. “Take this with you. It’ll help. My husband will take you to town and Sheriff Vincent will know what to do with you.”
I got dressed as quickly as my battered body would allow, falling twice in the process.
“I don’t understand. She said my name was Stewart—”
“I know what Elizabeth said. And I’m telling you that she thinks you are her dead fiancée. She has fabricated something in her mind and she believes it to be true. She thinks she lost her fiancée on the ocean and that the sea has returned you to her.” She stopped, wringing her hands. “Oh, Charles never should have taken her out of that asylum! But he did and she’s worse than ever. And when you finally realize who you are…” She finished in a whisper, her face clouded with worry. “She won’t allow you to be anyone but who she wants you to be.”
