REMEMBER ME (Secrets of Spirit Creek Book 1)

by Linda Style

  A dream. Oh, God. A dream. His heart raced. He gulped air, short quick breaths. A dream, that’s all. Just a dream. Throwing off sweat-soaked sheets, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Where was Tori? She said she’d be back, but two days had passed. She hadn’t even answered her phone when he’d called.

  “Linc?”

  Hearing her soft voice, the tightness in his chest eased, and he released an internal sigh of relief. “I wondered if you’d come back or not. I wouldn’t blame you if you—”

  She made a time-out signal. “Stop that. I don’t want to hear that ever again.”

  He grinned and gave a weak salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”

  When she smiled, he realized it was the first time he’d seen her smile like that. Easy. Natural. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he wondered what it would look like splayed on the pillow next to him. Picturing it, he felt a sudden familiarity. Maybe he did remember her from school?

  Pulling a chair to the side of the bed, she said, “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes. Your doctor said you might be able to go home soon. I can help with arrangements or something if you want me to.”

  “No, thanks,” he said, an automatic response. “I don’t need any help.” He was a grown man. He might not have his memory, but he could still think.

  She glanced away almost as soon as the words left his lips. Oh, man. What a jerk he was. “Hey…” He touched her chin, directing her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s just that…well, I need to figure out some things. A lot of things.” He let his hand drop. “Maybe I’m just one of those guys who thinks he’s so macho he doesn’t need help with anything.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right.” She straightened, managed a crooked smile, then became serious again. “I know it has to be hard for you. I can’t even imagine.”

  He couldn’t, either. All he could think was that there were more reasons—other than a prison fight—that he’d ended up like this. And whatever those reasons were, they couldn’t be good. But most important, it was his problem, not hers. She was a friend and, God knew, he needed one. “Well, I’m thinking I should look at all this in a positive way. No matter who I was before, I can be whoever I want to be now. I can forget my past and start fresh.”

  She stood and went over to look at the print on the wall opposite the bed, the kind that adorned the rooms in sleazy motels…and hospital rooms. Fingering the gold-edged frame, she said, “A lot of people wish they could do that.”

  She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear. He had the distinct feeling something was bothering her. But then she turned back to him, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay, let’s start again. What can I do to help?”

  He nipped at the soft skin inside his lower lip. What did it matter if she helped him? Why did he feel so uptight about it?

  “I can do things to help you get set up with whatever you need. I can research a place for you to stay, get a list of physical therapists, find the closest one to where you’ll be staying, buy groceries…whatever.”

  “You could. But first I’ll have to find out how to do anything without money or resources.”

  She looked surprised, as if that couldn’t be possible. “Don’t the courts do something?”

  He waved his hand at the bag on the chair in the corner. “Yeah, they gave me a bag of my stuff, which consists of a wallet with an expired driver’s license, a photo of a fiancée along with her Dear John letter, and who I don’t remember anyway, and a few business cards.”

  “How about a number where a relative can be reached. The nurses might have one.”

  He crossed his arms. “Nope. The only numbers they have are for the people who brought me here.”

  “Well, there must be someone?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I could try to find out for you.”

  He watched Tori as she spoke, tried to decipher the look in her eyes. She stood a little apart from him, her expression ever thoughtful. She rarely made eye contact, which must mean she’s really uncomfortable around him. But if she is, what the hell is she doing here? He shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. What’s the point? If I had anyone close to me, they would’ve been here by now. They’d have left numbers, called to see how I was. Forget it, Tori. Please.”

  She pursed her lips, waited a moment. “Okay. Then tell me what you do want to do.”

  He would if he knew what that was. He wanted her to stay, that was about all he knew. He ground out a smile. “I’d like you to sit down next to me and tell me all about Tori Amhearst.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TORI’S NERVES, TAUT with apprehension from the moment she’d first stepped into Lincoln Crusoe’s hospital room, were about to snap. She swallowed, the acrid taste of fear that he’d discover her identity still fresh on her tongue. But her fear wasn’t a fraction as powerful as the guilt weighing on her very soul. Seeing his frustration made it even worse.

  She plastered on a cheerful face and, sitting in the chair next to the bed again, she said, “Okay. But I’m warning you, it won’t take long, and it’ll probably put you right to sleep.”

  “A chance I’m willing to take.”

  Tori slid a hand to the back of her neck, kneading muscles that had long ago gone rigid. “I’m serious. It’s really boring.” She tilted her head side to side to get the kinks out.

  “I doubt that,” he said softly. “So far, all we’ve talked about is me. And since you seem to be my only friend, I want to know as much as I can about you.”

  She raised her head, eyes catching his.

  His narrowed gaze focused on her as if she were a target in a rifle scope. “Maybe something you say will jog my memory. I know Dr. Menke said I should forget about trying to remember and get some therapy, but I just don’t know how to do that.” He gritted his teeth, made a growling sound. “How do you stop thinking about something that…that’s your whole life?”

  She wished she had the answer. She’d like to not remember a lot of things. “I don’t know. Maybe start with not thinking about not thinking.”

  His brows rose.

  “Okay.” She leaned forward, one arm across her knees. “I’ll talk and then you’ll have to think about what I’m saying instead of other things. Mind over matter.”

  “If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

  She laughed. “Right. And see…not thinking about it, you remembered something.”

  “What…a clichéd joke? Not exactly a window to the soul.”

  “It was funny.” She shrugged.

  “Was I funny before?”

  “I – I think so. Maybe. Like I said, we weren’t good friends.”

  “Right. Okay, go ahead.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “Might as well start at the beginning. I’ve got a few days before I have to blow this pop stand.”

  The sadness in his voice told her he was probably lightening up for her sake. She’d noticed when he’d done it before…showing that he was tuned in to other people’s emotions. As for talking about herself, her childhood would be safe territory. “I grew up in two places, actually. Arizona and New York.”

  His eyes sparked. “Really?”

  “My parents have a townhome in—” she made quote marks in the air with two fingers “—‘the Big Apple,’ and they have another home here in Phoenix. That’s where I’m staying right now.”

  “You live with your parents?”

  “No, I’m staying at their place while I’m in town. I live a hundred miles north of here in Spirit Creek. It’s seven miles from Sedona, actually.”

  His mouth compressed. “I should know those places, shouldn’t I?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

  “So, go on. You grew up in two places.”

  “Uh-huh. My parents bought the home I’m staying in about the time I graduated high school.”
r />   “In Arizona,” he said, more a statement of fact.

  She nodded. “Paradise Valley, a suburb of Phoenix.”

  “And you and I went to Arizona State University together.”

  “Uh-huh. We were there at the same time. It took me a while to finish, but eventually, I earned a bachelor’s degree in art history and that’s what I do,” she concluded, skipping over the years in between…from the attack until now.

  “What do you do? Teach art history?”

  “No, I’m an artist.”

  “Really?” He arched one eyebrow. “Are you famous?”

  “Ha.” She laughed. “I wish. I do sell my work to some of the galleries in Sedona, and I’m having a showing at one of them in a couple of months. And…a friend of mine hangs a few of my paintings in her café, too, but that’s about it.” She raised her hands, palms up.

  “I’m impressed. You’ll have to show me some of your work.”

  Her blood rushed. She was about to say she’d like that, but caught herself. Somehow, they’d slipped into a comfortable rapport, almost as if they really were friends…and worse, she liked the feeling. Not good. She was walking a dangerously thin line as it was.

  She drew a big breath and stood. “I’d be happy to. But you’re going to have to get out of that bed before I can do it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy. Nurse Ratched reincarnated.”

  “Yes?” she said, her interest sparked. “Nurse Ratched? Do you remember what movie that’s from?”

  “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” he answered without hesitation. Then he grinned like Jack Nicholson. “Wow. How about that!”

  His excitement was contagious and made her laugh. “Very good. Hey, maybe you’re a movie fan?”

  “Maybe. But it’s more likely that I didn’t have anything else to do in prison except watch old movies.”

  Tori quickly drew her gaze from his, glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s late. I…better get going.”

  As she started to leave, he said, “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  She stopped and gave him a long, hard look. This whole thing was a disaster in the making…but the plea in his blue, blue eyes caught her off guard. She shouldn’t come back. It was a bad idea. No, an emphatic no, was the only answer.

  Making a decision, she squared her shoulders and took a breath. “I will if you can keep your macho guy thing from getting in the way and agree to let me help you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LINC’S HEAD THROBBED. He’d spent hours looking through magazines and newspapers, flipping channels to watch the news and every other program he could find, searching for something that might make him remember.

  From his hospital bed, he watched the sun set, examining the descending layers of blazing color that graduated from pale orange to crimson. He should feel something about the beauty of it, some emotion. He saw the pretty colors, yet felt nothing. Would he have had other feelings as the man he used to be? Would the sunset have reminded him of a girl, a pretty face, a first love or a first kiss on a hot desert night when—like the sky—his emotions were on fire?

  He’d be happy if he remembered any little thing. Because without memories, how could he feel anything?

  Memories—good, bad or indifferent—suddenly felt like his greatest loss. But the doc had said he didn’t have amnesia. His mind selectively blocked out things too traumatic to remember. Partial amnesia or a fugue. A stupid word. He could think of another F word that described it better, especially when combined with up.

  He levered himself to a sitting position. It didn’t matter what they called it. He didn’t know who he was. The doc had sent a shrink in to evaluate him, and the result was that he’d need psychotherapy once he left the hospital, first to determine how bad his condition was, and second to try to help him unblock his memory. The prospects didn’t sound promising. At best, it was a crapshoot. No one could say with any certainty whether his memory would return or not.

  He clicked on the television again. Mindless entertainment was what he needed. After surfing channels and finding nothing to hold his interest, he shut the thing off…just as he saw a man at the door. He recognized the young court attorney who’d been there before. He carried a manila envelope. “C’mon in,” Linc said.

  Entering, the kid said hello, came to the bed and handed Linc the envelope. “This is all the information I have right now. The court transcripts have been requested. You can pick them up at the courthouse or have them mailed. It takes about six weeks.”

  Linc waved the envelope. “What’s in here?”

  “Some history. The police report from the arrest. Your original defense attorney has since passed away, so I requested his records, too.”

  “Thanks. Could you open it for me and take it out. This contraption doesn’t come off until tomorrow and I’d like to read it now.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry.” The attorney did as asked and set the papers on the tray next to the bed. “Okay then. Anything else?”

  “Probably,” Linc said. “But not until after I read the report.”

  “Well, like I said, there’s not much there, but I’ll leave you to it. I’m on my way home for dinner. I hope the information helps,” he rattled off on his way out. “Call me any time.”

  Right. The guy wanted Linc to call him about as much as he’d like a punch in the face. What he knew so far was that his first public defender had been ready to retire long before he got Linc’s case, and now his second court appointed attorney was so young, he’d never litigated one case. But none of that mattered now. Nothing mattered except getting his memory back. Because only then would he be able to find out how and why he was so wrongly convicted and imprisoned. Only then would he be able find out who was responsible.

  Linc closed his eyes, breathed deep to calm his outrage at the injustice of it all, then picked up the police report. Five minutes later he was done. The report included his name, address, date, time and location of where he’d been picked up. Observations had been noted that he’d been drinking. That was it. His attorney was right. The report was useless.

  He gave a wry laugh. God, he was a mess. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about any of it. Then he remembered what Tori had said. First things first. She was right. He had to get better physically, then deal with the rest of his life, which at the moment seemed overwhelming. He needed a place to stay and to do that he needed money. Which meant he had to get a job, and in his present condition, that wasn’t likely. He had no memory of any skills he might possess, no relatives or friends willing to help that he knew of. Except one. Tori.

  He checked the time again. He’d expected Tori to be here before now. She’d said she would. What if she didn’t come? Damn it. He hated not being able to get around on his own. Hated being dependent. Every little thing he did seemed like a major ordeal. He needed a plan.

  He reached into the drawer on the table next to him, found a pen and paper. If he listed everything he’d been told or read about himself, maybe he could draft a plan of action.

  He wrote the information he’d been told so far: Transient family. Grew up in California, Missouri, Texas, North Dakota and more. Parents divorced. One older brother. Dead. Started ASU, arrested and convicted of rape. Mother died during trial. Spent ten years in prison and was exonerated.

  He stopped writing. God, how could he not remember his own mother, his own dead brother? A sudden hopelessness engulfed him.

  Grasping at the one positive thing in his life, he wrote: Tori Amhearst, friend from college. My only friend.

  His chest constricted. When making the period after “friend” he gritted his teeth and holding the pen in his fist, scrawled a big X over the list. He stared at it for a moment, then stabbed the paper full of holes.

  It was all just words on paper. There was no meaning behind any of it. He ground his teeth, ripped off the paper, crushed it into a ball and tossed it at the wastebasket in the corner…and missed. Tears filled his eyes.<
br />
  Lincoln Crusoe, whoever he was, might as well be dead.

  He took a deep breath, waited for the feeling to pass. It didn’t, so he turned to pick up the phone, but someone had placed it just out of reach. Stretching as far as he could, he still couldn’t get it.

  He pressed the nurses’ call button, holding it down until a nurse came rushing into the room. “You rang?” she said, her sarcastic tone undisguised.

  “I need to phone someone.”

  The older woman’s mouth twitched, obviously annoyed that he’d called her for such a thing. But she came over anyway, pulled open the door at the bottom of the table and took out a fat Phoenix phone book. “What’s the name?”

  He remembered then that Tori was staying at her parents’ home and he didn’t know their name. Hell, Tori could be married for all he knew. He’d never asked. But he hadn’t noticed a ring, and she hadn’t mentioned living with anyone. She’d said she had a friend looking after her dogs, so it was a pretty safe bet she wasn’t married.

  “Thanks. I just realized that’s not going to work.”

  The nurse left and at the same time he heard, “Hey there.”

  The familiar voice made Linc’s pulse jump, and when he saw Tori walk into the room, he felt as if he’d been rescued from a burning building. She’d said they hadn’t known each other very well, but some unspoken something between them made him feel as though they did. And right now he couldn’t be happier to see her than if they were lovers.

  “I was ready to give up on you,” he said as she walked toward him. Each time she’d been there, she’d worn her hair in a ponytail. But tonight, it was in a half up, half down style. She wore lipstick, too, and a pale pink, silky shirt with dark, expensive-looking jeans and high heels.