Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  “One of the fifty.” Dr. Eston’s lips turn up at the edges, and I can see he is trying to be gentle with me.

  “I don’t know.”

  It comes out softly and my achievement of only a moment ago is wiped away. I don’t know who I am, or where I am, or where I came from. I have a heavy dread that I may not be able to help Nick or his brother with what they need for the search.

  “What four words did I give you a minute ago.”

  “Apple, boat, horse, twenty-nine.” Knowing I answered correctly doesn’t please me at all this time. I already know I can learn and form new memories. Knowing the months was something I learned from before that I remembered.

  Dr. Eston hands me a sheet of paper and instructs me, “Read this aloud and answer the question at the bottom.”

  “Don’t be afraid of change. You may lose something good, but you may gain something better.”

  I have a feeling Dr. Eston put that in there for me, as an apology for my situation. I like it, though, it makes me think perhaps the quote is right. I have the power over my future, who I am now, who I choose to be. If this is a clean slate and I never get my memories back, making the best of it is the only acceptable option. I may have lost my past, but I have gained friends in only half a day. That is quite a lot of good to balance a pretty awful day. I look up at Dr. Eston and see he is waiting for my answer to the last question. Glancing back at the paper, I see a simple math question. Divide 42 by 6.

  “Seven.”

  “Now, correct me if I am wrong, you can read, write and do arithmetic.”

  “Yes.” I think for a moment and know it is the truth. “I know I can read, and the math question was simple. I feel certain I can write as well. What does that mean?”

  “Well, Eve, it means that you haven’t lost as much as you fear.” Dr. Eston’s expression is reassuring. “Some amnesia patients start at square one, though it is rare. With head trauma, memory loss and cognitive functioning can be severely damaged. We will have a much better understanding once we run more tests, but for now, I am going to put together a few tests similar to this one to help narrow down the specific areas of loss. Hopefully, they will help. Not only in giving you, yourself, a better understanding of your own faculties, muscle memory and ingrained responses, but it will help to trigger further memories. Time is a great factor with amnesia. The more time that passes, the more likely something will trigger your memories. It may all come flooding back with the sight of an ice cream cone, or a song on the radio. Or you may slowly begin to remember in pieces. We just don’t know. As I said in the beginning, although the mind is a mystery, we have the tools to learn to cope with what life hands us.” He reaches out and pats my blanket-covered leg, then turns to Nick.

  “Go ahead and ask your questions and then call in Hansette. It’s time to let Eve rest. She has been through a lot.”

  “I agree, Doc.” Nick rises from the bed and sits back in the chair beside it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. His expression is direct but encouraging.

  “Eve, you said you remembered something while talking to Laurel.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember swimming. Well, not actually going swimming, I just remembered the sensation and the feeling swimming gives you. I can recall warm sun and the cool water and floating. Laurel had said she can’t swim, that’s what triggered it. And I remember that I love cheeseburgers and chocolate cake. Laurel brought me a tray of food. I didn’t know what the Jell-O was, or Pepsi.” At the memory of the burning beverage, I swallow and make a face. “Nasty stuff, Pepsi, but while I was thinking about food I could remember dishes that I have had.”

  “That’s good, Eve.” Dr. Eston makes some notes on his clipboard. “Perhaps the list of questions tomorrow will help open up more things you are familiar with.”

  “Do you remember an area, a familiar place maybe, where you lived. A place that feels like home?”

  I close my eyes and try to think of home. A bedroom, a kitchen, a front porch, a yard. I reach and push for a picture or a feeling, but only blackness greets my struggle. I wonder if my home contains a family. A husband, children. It pains me to think I may have left a child without its mother or a husband worrying where I may be. But even as I attempt to summon a face, a laugh, a voice, or smell, all I hear is the ticking clock on the wall and the machines that hum and whir behind me. I open my eyes and look at Nick. “I am so sorry, really I am trying, but I just can’t see anything.”

  “Eve, I am not trying to add stress,” Nick relaxes and sighs, giving me a small apologetic smile. “You can only do your best. Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t remember—”

  A tap on the door interrupts what Nick was about to say, and an officer walks in, a notebook in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other. The shoes are covered in mud. Small and well worn.

  “Sam.” Nick rises and walks around the bed to shake the man’s hand. “Hansette, you know the Doc.”

  The officer nods to Dr. Eston, and the elder returns the nod.

  “Good to see you, Sam. Let’s make this brief. With all the traffic in and out of this room, Miss Eve will never get her rest.”

  “Yes, sir.” Officer Hansette moves to stand at the foot of my bed. His jacket is wet and slick with rain, and I notice traces of mud on his boots. “Miss.” He nods to me and clears his throat. “Uh, Miss…”

  “Eve,” I say gently. He is noticeably nervous and I want to put him at ease. He clearly has been out searching with Nick’s brother for any trace of an accident or my origins. I don’t want to burden anyone anymore. “Ask me anything, I’ll do my best to help.”

  Hansette nods and clears his throat again. “Miss Eve, can you walk me through what you remember from earlier tonight? Take me back to the first thing you can recall.”

  He flips open his notebook and readies his pen to begin taking notes. He has placed the small muddy shoes on the floor beside him. I can’t tear my eyes off them.

  “Rain.”

  “Excuse me?” Hansette looks up from his pad and peers at me.

  “I remember rain.” I look at Nick and then my eyes are drawn back to the shoes sitting innocently dripping on the floor. “I woke up and it was raining. I kind of…melted down. I couldn’t remember anything, and I was scared. Night was coming. I felt…thirsty, and my feet were cut. I didn’t have a coat or shoes.”

  I look up at Hansette and back down to the shoes,

  “Those are mine, aren’t they.” I know they are. I don’t recognize them, not by sight, but I feel that they belong to me. I don’t want them.

  “Uh, yes, well, we think so.” Hansette scratches the back of his neck and looks at the shoes. Everyone in the room is staring at them now as if they will speak, tell of their journeys, why they left my feet. “I brought them to see if you recognized them. It would help to know we are on the right track.”

  “They are mine,” I confirm for him. “I don’t recognize them, but I know they are. Is that possible?” I ask, turning to Dr. Eston.

  “Entirely. Just as a blind person can recognize personal objects. There are many senses beyond sight. Familiarity is like a sense of its own.”

  “Where did you find them?” Nick walks over and picks up the wet, muddy shoes, studying them as if they are covered in clues.

  “We walked the edge of Jenson’s field where it meets the state land. Lee picked up her trail leading into the woods…well, actually, out of them. The shoes were about a hundred yards in, tangled in a thorn patch. We lost the trail there.”

  “I don’t remember the woods or the thorns. I don’t remember anything before the field. I walked out of it, found the road, and walked for a little while. Then Nick found me. You know everything from there. I wish I could tell you more. I really do.”

  I study Officer Hansette’s young face, hoping he will understand I’m not trying to be coy or mislead them.

  “I know, Miss.”

  He smiles kindly, flashing a dimple on
the left side, and I relax a bit.

  “Is there anything else you need to ask?”

  It seems I have done nothing but cause trouble for everyone in this town. Somehow, I need to make this right. I make a silent vow not to be a burden and find a way to repay each person who helped me today. Including Sam Hansette.

  “Is there anything else you can recall? Anything at all may help. What did you see, or feel, did you hear anything, do you have a sense of the direction you came from?”

  “Well, I must have come from the woods, due to the shoes. I feel that they are mine. I am sure if I tried them on they would fit my feet perfectly. As for seeing or hearing anything, no. Just rows of young corn, and the rain, and my head was throbbing. I was scared.”

  I say this softly, hating the admission, but it is the only excuse for my inability to offer more information.

  “Of course. Anyone would be.” Hansette gives me a reassuring smile and tucks away his notepad. “Just the confirmation of the shoes is a help. Having some information to put in the system for missing persons will help in the search.”

  “Missing persons? You mean, other than me?”

  “Well, yes,” Hansette explains, “There is a database for people who have gone missing. We can access that and see if your photo comes up and if your disappearance is connected to anyone else. It may be the key to solving your identity.”

  Missing persons. It saddens me that there is an entire database that exists to hold lists of names of lost people. Not that the list is there, that’s good, but that there are others like me. Lost, alone. Hoping to be found.

  “Can’t I just report myself as missing? Perhaps I can speed up the search process if I put myself on the list.”

  “I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way. First, we have no name for someone looking for you to search, and we already know where you are. You are here, you’re not lost, just your identity is lost. However, I have brought a camera and a few things to record what we can. We’ll run it through the database to see if we get a hit, as well as our own system to see if there is a record of you there.”

  “You mean, like for criminals? You think I might be in your system with people who break the law?”

  “We don’t know.” Hansette looks sheepish and nervous again. “I was just told to get everything we would need to run through the system.”

  “Fingerprints. DNA.” Nick glares at Hansette, then turns to me. “Don’t worry. I am sure it will come up clean, but they have to try.”

  “Even if you are in the system it could be for something minor—a traffic violation, or a misdemeanor that has been resolved.” Hansette looks apologetic and turns to Dr. Eston. “I’m just going to, um, swab her mouth…”

  Dr. Eston takes a packet from Sam’s hand and rises from his stool. “Allow me. Miss Eve, I’m going to run this along the inside of your mouth.” He holds up a short stick with cotton on the end of it. “It won’t hurt at all, then Sam can get whatever else he needs, and we can leave you to rest. The interview is over.”

  He says the last with a tone we all know is directed to Hansette and Nick.

  I obligingly open my mouth and Dr. Eston runs the cotton along the inside of my cheek, then places the swab into a bag and seals it. Handing it to Hansette he turns and walks over to Laurel who takes the clipboard with notes on it.

  While they discuss my treatment, Sam moves to stand beside my bed opposite Nick.

  “I’ll just get your picture and fingerprints and then leave you to rest.”

  He sets a piece of paper on the table and swings it on its arm over my lap. There are two boxes, each containing five smaller boxes at the bottom. The large boxes have information written in them, and I notice the name, Jane Doe.

  Suddenly I am exhausted. I don’t want to be Jane Doe and don’t have the energy to argue my name is Eve. We all know it isn’t. I suddenly want to sleep and forget everything again. Wake up with my name and home and family. Without Nick. I don’t like the feeling that thought gives me. I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me, but I don’t want to not have him in my life. I want to learn him. I want to discover me. Maybe I can do both when I wake up.

  Sam lifts my right hand and one at a time gently presses each finger on a black ink pad. He then rolls the pad of each finger into one of the five little squares. He repeats the process with my left hand until all ten squares have prints inside them. The swirls and whorls fascinate me. They look like black storms sprung from my flesh, marking the paper with a stamp that says, this is me. My ten little storms.

  Officer Hansette hands me a wet paper towel to wipe away the remainder of the ink. Returning to the foot of the bed, he pulls a small camera from his coat breast pocket.

  “Just look straight ahead at me. You don’t have to smile.”

  I look up from my inky fingertips, and the camera flashes as he pushes a button on top. I blink and squeeze my eyes trying to reset the momentary blindness and lean back in the bed with a sigh.

  “If you remember anything or want to talk to us if you have questions, just call.” Sam hands me a small white rectangle of hard paper and nods to Nick. “Thank you for your help, Miss…Eve.” He picks up the shoes from the floor and turns to leave.

  “Thank you, Sam. Will you let me know if you find anything?”

  “Of course.”

  With a tip of his still wet hat, he pulls the door open and leaves with my shoes, my little black storms, my image inside the camera, and my DNA.

  “Nick, I’ll give you five minutes. Say your goodbyes.” Dr. Eston nods at Nick, and I catch a wink from the older man before he turns to leave.

  Laurel quickly checks my monitors and then squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll feel a bit better after you rest. I’ll be back to check on you through the night, but try to get some sleep. Buzz if you need me.” She silently exits the room, leaving me alone with Nick who lowers himself onto my bed again to sit facing me.

  We are both silent for a while. Exhaustion seeps into my bones and muddles my thoughts. It feels like I ran for hours. Maybe I did, maybe I ran for days. My strength is slipping away with each ticking of the clock. With no more adrenaline and panic to fuel me, I feel myself sliding into a comfortable numbness.

  “Eve.” Nick hesitates before he continues, and I lift my heavy lids to focus on his handsome features.

  So serious, so kind. I smile, knowing it must appear weak, but I want him to go on. I love the sound of his voice. It comforts me.

  “I want you to know, no matter what happens, you won’t be homeless or alone.” His eyes are focused on mine, and he reaches out to take my fingers. His hand is so warm, I feel his heat entering me through the tips of my stained fingers. “We’re a community in Brighton Valley. We help each other. I’ll do everything I can to help find your real name, your home, but as long as you are Eve, you’ll be taken care of.”

  The statement, the offer, makes me feel like a child. I know he means to ease my fears, but I don’t like knowing I will be a burden if I can’t find my home, my place in the world. I don’t want to hurt his feelings—Nick has done so much for me—so I smile again and nod my head in thanks. Deciding to change the subject, I ask Nick what I have been wanting to ask since Dr. Eston started his test.

  “Nick, will you tell me the answers?”

  “Answers?”

  “To the test. What month it is, what state, what year. Will you help fill in some blanks? I feel…disconnected, like I am not a part of your world. I don’t know your world. I don’t know what carbonated means or if we are on the coast or on a mountain. I feel lost and unfairly restricted by all that I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Eve,” Nick whispers my name, his voice low and gentle. I can see sadness and empathy in his eyes, and it makes my throat tighten.

  I don’t know why this man is an anchor for me, but I need an anchor to keep from drifting further from solid ground. I reach out and touch his cheek, running my fingers down his jaw, fascinated by the smooth texture, the heat
that billows from him like a furnace. He’s like the sun in a dark world. I don’t think I could give him up now.

  Nick takes my hand from his face and holds it in his, both my hands clasped in his large ones now. Closing his eyes, he takes a long breath and blows it out slowly. “Yes, of course, I will give you anything you need.” He has opened his eyes and focused them back on mine, and I sense that there is a deeper meaning to the statement. It wraps me in a blanket of safety and relaxes me to my core.

  “It is late April, the twenty-fifth. The year is 2017, we are in Brighton Valley Kentucky. Today is Tuesday.” He glances at the clock, and I notice it is ticking closer to midnight. “Soon to be Wednesday.”

  “Thank you.” The words escape on a sigh of relief. Knowing these details gives me a starting place. I feel less lost. I know where I am, geographically at least, and I can begin filing away time. Tomorrow is Wednesday. I smile at Nick, not weakly this time, but from my heart, and he leans forward to press his lips against my brow.

  “I have to go, you need rest.” Nick cups my face with his large warm hands, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn't know had escaped and his gray eyes turn dark, troubled.

  “Please don’t cry, Eve.” His voice is low, as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear. “You will be all right. I’ll come back tomorrow and I will answer any question you have. We will fix this.” I know he means my memory, my emptiness. “For now, just rest.”

  He runs his hands down the sides of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their path, ending on my shoulders, and suddenly he pulls me to him. I lean into his chest, smelling the warmth rolling off him like bread out of an oven, but his scent is not bread, it is spicy and earthy and unique. Like what sunshine smells like. Comfort.

  His arms wrap around my back and mine wind around his waist as I curl into the safest place in the world. We sit like that forever. His chin resting on the top of my head, my cheek pressed to his heart. I slip closer and closer to the edge of dreams as my body relaxes against him and the sun emanating from his center heats me. Thawing the marrow of my chilled bones, turning me to comfortable mush. I think I hear him say something, but I can’t make it out. Then I am drifting, moving, and I feel the soft mattress lower, a blanket is tucked around me, and I willingly let sleep win.