by Casi McLean
Noah nodded. “There you are. You said you’d love to stay with us a while.”
“I did?” Shivering, she took another step forward. “Do I know you?” Voice trembling, she studied them, her guarded stare showing no recollection of meeting Noah or Sydney. Arms crossed in front of her, she rubbed her palms up and down over the sleeves of Noah’s damp jacket.
Syd sent a what-the-hell glance toward Noah then back toward Willow.
He gave Syd a nod then hobbled toward the girl. “Of course, but you were hurt… delirious from your injuries… just take a look at the bruises on your arms and neck.”
Letting go of the jacket still clenched to her chest, she lowered her chin and stared at the purple marks on her shoulders. Her gaze drifted back to Noah. “Who did this to me?”
“A man jumped you by the river. You don’t remember?”
Syd elaborated. “You… uh… took a walk in the woods but when you didn’t return, my brother went searching for you.” She pressed her lips together a beat then continued her diatribe. “I saw you floundering around in the river, and I helped you… gave you my brother’s jacket. If you don’t believe me, take a look in the pockets. You’ll find my phone, and a beautiful amulet with a blue sapphire stone in the center.”
Noah turned toward his sister and gave her an inquisitive frown. She obviously found his jacket at the house. But an amulet? Where the hell did that item come from? Returning his gaze to Brooke or Willow or whatever her name was, he watched as she dug into his jacket pockets and withdrew Syd’s phone and a gold amulet. The curious gem was fashioned in what he believed to be Celtic design with a large deep blue stone set in the center. His questions mounted, but they could wait. Right now, he needed to convince this woman to go with them to the house so he could tend to her wounds––both physical and mental––and his own injuries as well. “Come on. Let’s get back home so you can get out of those wet clothes.” He held out a hand.
The girl nodded and stepped forward.
Her gaze darted between Syd and Noah, giving him an opportunity to inspect her pupils. No dilation, but her face was drawn and sallow. Gaining her trust should give him a chance to examine her further but, for now, her thin frame, haggard features, and memory loss was all he had to formulate a diagnosis. He leaned close to his sister. Rubbing his forehead in an attempt to disguise his explanation, he whispered under his breath, “She has no idea who she is. Let’s keep an eye on her and make sure she sees one of us at all times, or she’ll forget we’re friends and take off.”
Syd acknowledged with a long blink then walked toward Willow. “It’s okay. I know you’re confused and probably scared. But Noah is a doctor. An amazing doctor, and he’ll help you. I promise.” Staring at the girl’s stunned expression, Syd took the amulet and her phone from Willow’s hands and stuffed them into her own pockets. Then she draped an arm around her shoulders. “Besides, I really need your help. My brother fell when he was searching for you, and I can’t get him back to the house alone. If you support him on one side and I on the other, I think we can get him home before his wounds get the best of him.”
She nodded and edged forward, shifting her gaze toward Noah. “Oh my gosh, you’re hurt. I’ll need to put a clean bandage on your head as soon as we get home.”
Chapter 7
Casting eerie shadows that danced on the breeze, moonlight reflected off the water and lit the riverbank enough to see a worn pathway leading back toward the house. Noah leaned against his sister and steadied himself with an arm draped around the shoulder of BW––a nickname Sydney now called Brook/Willow. Hiking the woods at night presented challenges under normal circumstances, but Noah’s tumble down the mountainside had left his head pounding with each step, and every muscle in his body ached.
By the time they arrived at the cottage, his strength had waned. Try as he might, he couldn’t conjure his recall enough detail to narrow down––let alone pinpoint––his young companion’s disorder. After standing in the shower under a warm cascade for longer than usual, his aching muscles slowly relaxed––if only for a while. Now, he sat on the sofa, staring at the blazing fire the girls built while he showered. His thoughts reeled between past cases and correlating medical journal articles. A rare condition niggled just under the surface. Perhaps once he rested the disorder would become clear. Right now, he needed to think about dinner. Pushing off the armrest, he stood and shuffled unsteadily into the kitchen.
While the girls bathed upstairs, he scanned the fridge for the few items he’d picked up the day he arrived, which consisted of basic breakfast choices, a loaf of bread, butter and a few snacks. Settling on eggs and bacon, he snatched the combo and set them on the counter then hobbled back to the great room, his mind still fixated on BW.
Despite her frail frame and intermittent memory loss, she’d managed the hike better than he expected. Making sure she consistently interacted with one of them fed her ability to recall. But the tactic merely prolonged the inevitable and would eventually fail when she slept.
Multiple conditions could cause amnesia. He mentally listed what came to mind: medications, head trauma, hypothyroidism, brain diseases, concussion, emotional disorders, alcoholism, vitamin deficiency… the list went on. But BW’s disorder presented with unique symptoms. Moments after a traumatic incident, her memory completely wiped clean every trace of the event. She had no idea who she was, and her recall faded within mere moments if her thoughts drifted away from any given situation, making obtaining a medical history utterly impossible.
What bothered Noah most, though, generated a sense of urgency beyond what he typically felt toward other patients. Her face, gaunt and pallid, showed signs of extreme malnutrition. Perhaps she suffered from anorexia nervosa. He’d know more when they offered her a meal. Until then, Sydney had to stay within her view––which could be tricky when BW took a shower. But knowing Syd’s resourceful nature, she’d come up with some justification that would appear completely normal.
By eight-fifteen p.m., his sister, clad in a clean hoody and jeans, had whipped-up dinner from what little food Noah laid on the counter. She set the table and filled the plates.
BW was showered, dressed in one of Syd’s sweatshirt running ensembles, and now sat opposite Noah.
He frowned as the plot reeling through his thoughts thickened. He expected her to push the food around her dish while eating next to nothing, but to his surprise, she consumed a plateful of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast then asked for more. Scratch anorexia. Perhaps hyperphagia might explain her voracious appetite while she maintained an emaciated body, but a bulimia diagnosis wouldn’t cause her memory loss. He and his sister kept BW engaged since the trek to the cottage began and would continue doing so as long as possible. If she tossed her cookies after eating, they’d know soon enough, but his gut told him to dig deeper.
Syd shoved away from the table and faced Noah. “We’ve fulfilled your prerequisites. Everyone is clean and fed. Can we take you to the hospital now?”
“She’s right. The cut on your head might need stitches.” BW leaned forward and inspected Noah’s wound more closely. “If you need a new butterfly bandage, I can help you get it tight.”
He pressed two fingers above his nose and drew in a long breath. “I’m a doctor, girls, and I’m quite capable of diagnosing myself. I realize I have a concussion, which accounts for my headache, dizziness, and irritability among other symptoms. I’ll take the appropriate steps to recover.” He jabbed a finger toward Sydney. “But I don’t need stitches. The butterfly bandage will hold the cut together nicely. Besides, the three of us have had a rough few days and more than anything else, we all need a good night’s rest.” He shoved his plate away. “Which reminds me, I think I should sleep on the sofa tonight. You two share the king-size bed in the loft. Is that okay?”
Syd nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”
BW turned toward the fireplace with a mesmerized stare for a long beat before shrugging. “That’s fine.”
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After leaning on the table and ladderback chair to stand, Noah ambled the few steps into the great room. “By the way, thanks for building this fire, ladies.” He glided into an overstuffed chair and lifted his feet onto the ottoman then tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Come join me. We can do the dishes later.”
BW stood and stretched. “The fire looks so beautiful.” She edged closer. “I love the way the flames flicker as they lick the chimney stones.”
“Wow. Are you a writer or something? The way you described the blaze was so descriptive.”
Sitting on the sofa, BW leaned forward to warm her hands then turned toward Sydney, her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not sure. I’m having a hard time remembering anything lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Syd slid in next to her. “Don’t worry. I told you Noah would figure out why you’re having problems with your memory. His specialty is rare diseases, and he wouldn’t be working at Emory Hospital if he wasn’t the best at what he does.” She nudged BW. “Just keep focusing on what’s happening right now… in each moment.”
“I am, and so far, that’s working. But… what if I fall asleep? I won’t remember you when I wake up and––”
“And…I’ve already figured out a way to help you feel safe when you do.” She leaned back, drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “What’s the first thing you do when you open your eyes?”
BW shrugged. “I guess I look around.”
“Exactly. And I’ll be next to you. I’m pretty sure I can calm you down and tell you why you’re here.”
“I’m afraid I won’t recognize you, or this place.” She gazed up the stairway toward the loft.
“Unless we can come up with a way to remind you where you are the moment you wake up.” Noah mentally shuffled through previous patient ailments. “What if you write a note to yourself and pin it on your clothes? You’ll trust the note because you’ll recognize you own handwriting, right?”
“Maybe, but what if I don’t?”
Sydney released her legs and turned in her seat to face them. “I’ve got it. You’re a genius, Noah. You just didn’t go far enough.” Her gaze shifted to BW. “You might not recognize your handwriting, but you’d have to recognize your own face. What if we made a video on my phone and set it on the table next to you with a note that says, ‘watch this’? You can explain to yourself that you’re safe and that Noah and I are helping you find out why you can’t remember.”
A smile brightened BW’s sallow features. “That might work. Good idea.”
“Noah came up with the premise. He sparked a memory of a movie I saw a long time ago. I don’t even remember the name of the film, but the main character couldn’t remember who she was, so her therapist had her record herself each night to remind her the next day.” Syd turned toward Noah. “Of course, that was only a movie, not real life.”
“I think a recording might work. At least for tomorrow or until I can run a few tests, diagnose, and start treating your disorder. I have a sneaking suspicion about what might have caused your memory loss, but I need to do some research before I get your hopes up. In the meantime, I’ll make a few calls and see if we can figure out who you are.” He reached into his pocket and dug out his phone.
“Wait.” BW’s eyes widened and her body went rigid. “Please don’t call the police”––she slipped her hands under her thighs––“or run my fingerprints.”
Her remark shot a wave of anxiety quivering down his back. Why did the mere mention of police cause such a reaction? Was she lying about her memory loss? Was her story a cover for some illicit event or behavior? In truth, he knew little about this woman. Noah’s gaze met Sydney’s then slowly shifted toward BW. “I wasn’t planning on doing either.” If this girl couldn’t remember anything, why would she want to fly under the radar?
Chapter 8
“Why don’t you want me to run your fingerprints? Don’t you want to find out who you are?” Noah’s suspicion flew into high gear.
“I don’t know.” BW wrung her hands and jiggled her knee up and down.
Noah slid back into his chair and crossed his legs, observing her reaction without saying a word.
“When you reached for your phone, a rush of sheer panic clenched my chest. My breath caught.” BW stood and crept toward the window, staying clear from outside view. Finger crooked, she hooked the sheer curtain, shifting it slightly and peering outside. “I don’t know why. I’m sure I’m not a criminal… but… something in the depths of my soul tells me if you call the police, I’ll be murdered––and your lives would be in danger, too.”
Syd eyed BW with a wary grimace. “How do you know you’re not a criminal?”
Good question. Noah studied the young woman’s reaction to Sydney’s quip, a stern over-the-shoulder stare.
“I’m sorry.” Syd sprang from her seat and approached BW then placed a hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you were a felon. I’m intrigued by your reaction, though. Do you think a memory might be hiding just beneath the surface? Maybe you saw or experienced something traumatic and you don’t want to remember.”
BW tightened her lips, twisting them to the side. “I don’t know.” She shook her head.
Scratching the bristles on his chin, Noah observed BW’s body language and the fear-struck expression carved into her features. Desperation oozed from her demeanor. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t lying. He’d stake his career on that detail. The girl had no idea who she was, yet an innate fear of impending danger rattled her to the point of panic. Paranoia crossed his mind, but despite BW’s seemingly irrational reaction, Noah found himself agreeing with Syd. What if this girl ran away from some kind of looming threat? That explanation would certainly account for her lack of hiking gear. A physical trauma as she ran for her life could have caused amnesia––perhaps a fall. But then why would she fear police?
“You’re shivering again.” Syd tugged BW’s arm. “Come on. Let’s sit by the fire so your hair can dry. Maybe Noah and I can help you remember who scared you.”
Again, he sifted through possible situations that might warrant her symptoms. His thoughts zeroed-in on her muffled shriek and the terror in her eyes as she fought off the assailant. Challenging his memory, Noah envisioned the attacker straddling the girl as he pinned her to the ground. He wore no uniform, but that fact didn’t exclude the thug from holding a law enforcement job. Noah’s first inclination pegged the assailant as a rapist, but the gun protruding from the guy’s waistband added a lethal element.
God, how Noah wished he could evaluate the situation with Wes Watley’s input. He cracked a slight smile thinking of his FBI friend. Wes always looked the part of a strait-laced law enforcement professional. Typically dressed in a conservative dark suit and a simple dark tie, he kept his deep brown, wavy hair cut in a “businessman” style. He stood about 5-feet 11-inches tall and wasn’t particularly muscular, but his trim, fit appearance and steely, gray-blue eyes under slightly thick, dark brows pierced a man’s stare until they believed whatever Wes chose to convey.
Of course, Syd’s interrogation skills were a godsend, too. Syd could inject an investigative spin to balance his medical intuition. So far, keeping BW engaged so she didn’t lose her memory meant they couldn’t simply excuse themselves for a brief private chat. Frustrated, he leaned forward in his seat and rested his crossed arms on his knees.
“I believe you.” Syd stroked the girl’s shower-damp hair. “We want to help, but the more you can tell us, the easier that task will be.”
Did his sister really believe the girl’s story, or was her affirmation meant to calm BW’s agitation? If the girl was targeted, why? Was she chased down because the attacker––or someone motivating the guy––had malicious intent… or was she a fugitive? Damn. Head pounding, he rubbed his forehead then brushed aside the throbbing pain. If a chance existed someone meant BW harm, they all could be in grave danger.
Again, he envisioned the attack. A
bounty-hunter or law officer would have identified himself, but the attacker didn’t. That fact gave credence to BW’s adamant belief she wasn’t a criminal. A chill ran down Noah’s back. He could deal with amnesia, but if this girl’s life was in jeopardy, her very presence endangered everyone around her.
What would Wes do under the same circumstances? He’d evaluate the facts. Using his friend’s analytical methodology, Noah mentally recounted factual details he recalled. Fact––if the thug in the woods targeted BW, he’d be back sooner rather than later. Fact––since Noah feigned that phone call to the police and announced who he was, the attacker already knew his identity. Fact––if the thug heard Noah’s call––which he appeared to have done––he not only knew precisely where to look, he’d likely bring help. Damn. Noah squeezed his fists to quash the knot twisting in his stomach.
“I know that look, Noah.” Sydney scooted forward in her seat. “What’s wrong?”
Pushing off the armchair, he gazed toward his sister. “I think we need to respect BW’s intuition.” He turned toward the girl. If you fear the police that strongly, I’m inclined to believe you. There’s no sense testing the notion.”
“Thank you. So much.”
Syd stared. Unanswerable questions flushing her cheeks. She tapped her fingers on her knee. “Okay, then.” She huffed. “Are you suggesting we go––”
“Home? Yes.” Recognizing his sister’s familiar huff, Noah completed the sentence to keep the word ‘Atlanta’ from passing over her lips… a precaution to avoid a possible adverse reaction from BW regarding the long trip. Better to take small incremental steps to keep the girl engaged in the moment.
Syd raised a brow then nodded, acknowledging she understood his interruption. “You’re right, Noah. And the sooner the better. If she’s in danger, staying out here, essentially in the middle of nowhere, could be risky.”