Amnesia

  Her face was covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises, evidence of the abuses over the past several days. Her hair was matted and dirty, with strands sticking out at odd angles everywhere. There was even blood spatter across her right cheek.

  She looked down at her hands and saw that they too were cut and scraped. There were also red lines around her wrists, ligature marks from the ropes that had held her for so long. Blood stains covered her right hand and arm, the remnants of that last fight with her abductor. She shuddered involuntarily at the memory and turned back to the shower and its wonderfully clean, hot water.

  She stayed in the shower for a long time, scrubbing at the dirt and blood until her skin was raw, and her rumbling stomach reminded her that she needed food. She turned the water off, dried herself with a towel conscientiously left for her, then dressed in the clothing provided.

  Although these replacement sweats were large on her, they were wonderfully clean and soft. The still packaged underclothes made her feel like a woman again. Ignoring the socks and her soiled shoes for now, she walked barefoot into the living area, enjoying the feel of the carpet on her bare soles.

  She found Carrie sitting in the living room across from a tall handsome man wearing hospital scrubs. They were obviously at ease with each other, and she wondered for a moment if they were a couple. She didn’t have time to think about it before Carrie jumped up and led her to the kitchen and a steaming bowl of chicken-noodle soup.

  “I know its cliché,” Carrie told her once Beverley had started spooning the scalding concoction into her parched throat, “but it really does help when you need something easy on your stomach.”

  “It’s perfect,” Beverley responded, noticing that the man had entered the room as well, showing a big smile at the two. Carrie followed the look back to the man, and smiled herself.

  “Beverley, this is Robbie, well, we call him Robbie anyway,” she introduced. “He has amnesia, and can’t remember his real name,” she added, noting the confused look on the other woman’s face.

  “Amnesia?” Beverley asked. “So you’ve forgotten everything?”

  “No,” Robbie answered, “only the stuff about who I am, where I live, my family, and that sort. But there is a great deal I can remember.” He paused, thinking through his next comment. “It’s really not as bad as it sounds. I’m confident that I will remember the rest sometime as well. I’ve already remembered quite a bit.”

  “I wonder if that might be a blessing,” Beverley responded darkly. “There are some things I wish I could forget.”

  “Oh, don’t say that!” Robbie responded emphatically. “Memories are all we have in this life. I wouldn’t give up any of them, even the bad ones, if I didn’t have to. They are very precious!”

  A pained look crossed Carrie’s face at the comment, and she sat down across from Beverley. The group was quiet for a moment, caught up in their own thoughts. It was Carrie who finally broke the tension.

  “Well, you must be dying to know what’s been going on while you were asleep.”

  “Very much so,” Beverley agreed.

  Carrie went on to explain how Curt and Shirley had found the couple in the middle of the street and how they had sought out Bill for help. She told how Bill had brought the two of them here to Lissa for help, and then taken Peter on to the emergency room. She was also quick to point out that they were going to great lengths to protect their identity, and how the police captain was involved in keeping a tight lid on things.

  Beverley in turn told of how some ugly brutes had grabbed her and Peter, thrown them into the back of a cargo van, and tied them up and took them to the old dilapidated house. She told them about how they had been only given a glass of water and a piece of bread three times a day, and never allowed to use the restroom.

  She then explained how she had gotten the knife when Peter had been beaten. Finally she told how they had escaped. Throughout it all she spoke dispassionately, her emotions still too numb to allow her to feel.

  Not so with Carrie, whose tears had cascaded down her cheeks from the beginning. Even Robbie had shed tears when she retold how the evil man had attempted to rob her of her virtue, and then nearly robbed her of her dearest friend. Neither of them could imagine the courage it must have taken for this girl to have made it through the ordeal, let alone the bravery to escape so dramatically.

  “You poor child,” Carrie spoke as she concluded. “How did you ever make it through?”

  “What choice did I have?” Beverley asked matter-of-factly. Then she got a curious look on her face. “There is one thing I don’t quite understand though. Right when we were in the most dangerous moment, just before that disgusting creep came back and we got away, I had the strangest experience. I was standing there, holding tightly to Peter, and I realized how much I loved him. That was wonderful, but it was nothing like what I felt next.

  “We were just standing there, and I felt like I got hit with a bolt of lightning. It was like my whole heart was full of…of feeling…of peace, and tranquility, that all was right in the world. I thought my heart would burst because there was just so much…feeling. I know it doesn’t make any sense….”

  “Makes perfect sense to me,” Robbie offered. “I’ve felt that before, although never in such deplorable circumstances. When I was on my mission I felt that way several times. And since I’ve been home I’ve felt it many times when in the temple.”

  “I’ve felt it too,” Carrie added softly, “when I needed strength and I prayed for comfort. It wasn’t nearly that strong, but I know it was the same thing.”

  “What was it?” Beverley pried.

  “The Spirit of Christ, of course,” Robbie answered simply.

  “I don’t understand,” Beverley shook her head. “I’ve talked to the missionaries, and they spoke of this spirit, but I never felt it before.”

  “I don’t have all the answers myself,” Robbie chuckled. “But sometimes we aren’t really listening to the Spirit when it tries to communicate with us. Sometimes it’s pretty soft and we have to really try to feel it. Other times it’s like you describe it, a bolt of lightning. I think it really depends on what the person needs at the time. What was it you were looking for when you felt it this time?”

  “This will sound kind of weird, I know, given our condition and where we were, but what I really wanted right then was to know that I wouldn’t have to lose Peter again. I almost lost him there, and I didn’t want that to ever happen again.” The tears that had not accompanied her recounting the story of her abduction were starting to form now as she remembered the feelings.

  “You don’t have to,” Carrie cut in. “Not if the two of you do what you are supposed to do and keep your faith.”

  “I…I don’t have his faith. Or yours,” Beverley uttered quietly.

  “You don’t have to yet,” Robbie comforted. “None of us got our faith automatically, nor did we get it all at once. We all started with a small seed of faith, and nurtured it and protected it and let it grow. You can do the same, until it is a huge redwood forest of faith.”

  “I do want that peace I felt that night,” Beverley responded with hope. “And I do want to be with Peter, no matter what that takes. I really love him.”

  “And you know what the neat part is,” Carrie encouraged, “you don’t have to give up a thing to have both. In fact, the harder you work at the one, the more you have of it and the other. The source of that spirit of peace is our Heavenly Father. As your relationship with your Father in Heaven increases, so will your relationship with Peter, as long as you get married, and in the temple.”

  “But I’m not a Mormon,” Beverley said wistfully.

  “Why aren’t you?” Robbie asked poignantly.

  “Because, well, mostly because my mother would never allow it,” she answered.

  “I can’t remember my mother,” Robbie responded, “but I do know how I feel about her. I can only imagine how hard it must be to have to make that type of a decision. But
let me ask you one last question, one I know is extremely cruel and unfair. Which would you rather have, an eternal life with Peter, most likely his children, and the constant companionship of the Spirit you have already felt, or a few short years of relative comfort with your mother?”

  No one spoke for a moment as Beverley struggled with the logic of his question, knowing that it was a fruitless battle. Of course she wanted the former, but why did it have to come with such a high price? Tears stung her eyes again, but she knew what she must do. Then Robbie offered her a new glimmer of hope.

  “There is another alternative, you know. If you do what you know is right, hold tight to the faith you have, and love them enough, someday your parents may come to understand what it is that you feel, and they may even want it themselves.” He paused a moment to let that sink in then added, “it really is about family, and being together forever. All of your family, not just your spouse and children. That includes your parents.”

  Tears freely streamed down the faces of the two women, both feeling the spirit confirming the truth of Robbie’s words, but each in their own way, and in their own plight. It was Robbie that summed up the entire conversation.

  “Now let me suggest one more thing to you, Beverley. As awful as this whole affair was, compared to what you have learned, and how your relationship with Peter and your Father in Heaven has been promised, was it worth it?”

  She sat for a moment, thinking back about what had happened, the pain, the fear, the terror, but also the love, peace, and promise. Emotion filled her heart again as the trauma and hope coalesced in her mind. Starting deep down in her soul, the cleansing she needed began, and sobs bubbled to the surface, washing away the experiences, replacing the fears with hope.

  Sobs wracked her body as she sat there, head cradled against Carrie’s bosom, the smaller woman gently stroking her hair, rocking slightly back and forth, allowing the catharsis to work inside the younger woman. Several minutes later the crying ended and Beverley sat back up, hope shining in her wet eyes.

  “Thank-you Robbie,” she smiled. “I will do whatever I have to do and leave the rest up to my Father in Heaven and Jesus!”

  * * *

  Tawny Windham breezed through her palatial home, a regal sovereign parading through her vast empire. She was proud not only of her prestige and heritage, but also of her own decisions and activities of the day. It had started so badly, with a telephone call from that common police captain about that abhorrent Peter Frindle, but she had used her considerable prowess and tenacity to turn things to her favor.

  When Captain McConnell had arrived at their home Gregg was like a caged animal seeking to escape his prison. It was terribly embarrassing to have someone of his stature act that way around his subordinates, but she played her part, that of the patient loving wife, perfectly, as she had always done. She was well acquainted with this particular weakness in her husband, and only hoped that someday she could break him of it.

  At any rate, the captain had loaded them into his cruiser like a couple of common criminals, and whisked them off to the hospital to see the awful man that Beverley had lowered herself to accompany. When she had heard what the doctors had said about him she had felt some sort of pity for the man, despite his lower class upbringing. That was until the three of them, McConnell, Gregg and herself, had spent a few minutes conversing about Beverley.

  Oh Beverley, Beverley. Why had she thrown away her position and family to cheapen herself around someone like this? If only she had listened to her mother, as Tawny had listened to hers, none of this would have happened.

  Of course Tawny didn’t really know why the two were taken, but she suspected that it was probably drugs or something like that; it usually is with these kinds of people. All she knew was that her daughter’s foolishness had put their whole family reputation at stake. Just think of what the other Senator’s wives must be thinking of them now!

  When she and Gregg had gotten back to the house he made some excuse about seeing some campaign contributors, and left again in his powder blue BMW convertible roadster. She knew it was really just a ruse to get out of the house, something he was beginning to do more and more often now. At first she had thought he was having a tawdry affair, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. There was no reason for that. She was still lithe and beautiful, retaining the same figure she had exhibited on their wedding night. No, that wasn’t it, but even if it was, it wasn’t really a worry, as long as he kept it all discreet. She couldn’t bear the shame if that ever got out.

  While he was out she had spent her time readying the house for the upcoming soirée. She stood basking again at the large formal hall, with its shiny hardwood floor reflecting the large crystal chandelier overhead. She swept over to the music system placed discretely behind a corner cabinet, and turned on a CD, swaying slightly to the strains of Beethoven’s Waltz, Opus 39, Number 15. She listened for a few moments, and then stepped out onto the faux dance floor, eyes closed, spinning slowly to the music, Cinderella at the mythical ball. She visualized her Prince Charming pulling her around the floor, the onlookers standing agape at their royalty. Her lips curved into a utopian smile as she allowed the melody to carry her dream.

  The song ended, replaced by another echoing around the cavernous room, the skillfully placed speakers surrounding her with the notes. This is heaven, she dreamed. This is what life should be. If only Gregg and Beverley could share this.

  She stopped dead, the dream shattered at the thoughts of her increasingly estranged family. First Gregg had distanced himself from the future she was offering him as much as from their relationship. Then Beverley had run off with that man, at least metaphorically, and gotten herself caught up in some sordid mess. It was like some awful story that other families go through, where their kids get hooked on drugs, or have babies, or some such, dragging their parents and their good name through the mud, opening them up to ridicule and gossip.

  It was too much for one person to take. She was of royal descent and this shouldn’t happen to her. Yet she was a fighter and she wouldn’t let it destroy her like those commoners she heard about on the news. She opened her eyes and turned to leave the room and walked right into the strong chest of Darrion Stanton.

  “Doctor Stanton! I wasn’t expecting you!” She quickly recovered from her shock, re-affixing the mantle of the cool and pleasant matriarch that befitted her station.

  “Not at all Mrs. Windham,” he replied, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “And please call me Darrion. May I have this dance?”

  “Oh, Darrion, really, I’m old enough to be your mother,” she responded playfully slapping him on the chest, feigning modesty. She held out her arms to the man, joining him in Shumann’s Waltz, Opus 54 Number 1. “In fact, that wouldn’t be a bad arrangement at all. I’m certain that you would be the ideal son-in-law. Heaven knows Beverley could use a man like you to help her settle down and learn her place.”

  “Ah, the lovely Beverley Windham,” he said, his voice dripping with sympathy. “I heard that they found her—well—friend.”

  “That impertinent fool Frindle,” she scowled. “I just know that he’s the one that got her into this mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if he would end up getting her pregnant or hooked on drugs, if she isn’t already. Well, when she gets back I will put an end to that. I am her mother after all.” She fumed for a moment, forgetting her composure in her anger.

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I think I may have a way to find her before she gets into too much more trouble.” He wore a concerned look, the faithful friend trying to aid the beleaguered parent. “Is Gregg available?”

  As if on cue, the front door closed and the senator walked slowly into the anteroom facing the large hall. His head was down, dejected, his hair damp with perspiration, evidence to both the heated air and his worry over his daughter.

  “Gregg,” Tawny called, “Look who’s come to visit.”

  He turned jerking his head up in surprise, his deep thoughts i
nterrupted by his wife’s voice. He started to walk toward the two in the middle of the floor, trying to rouse his political smile. The smile froze half formed on his lips as he recognized his visitor, his pace suddenly slowing, as if apprehensive of getting too near the man.

  Ignoring the obvious discomfiture Stanton closed the gap himself, holding out his hand in feigned friendship. “Gregg, I just heard they found the boy Beverley was with, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do.”

  Windham took the proffered hand, albeit distastefully, and quickly released it again, unconsciously wiping his hand on the back of his trousers from the touch. If the other two noticed the action they ignored it, awaiting the assumed response. However, they could not have predicted what he actually said.

  “I’m sure we can manage without your kind of help Mr. Stanton.”

  Shocked, Tawny almost lost her temper with her befuddled husband. She scrambled to remain calm, carefully crafting her retort, aimed at both easing the sudden tension and putting her husband back into his assigned place.

  “I see you are more tired than I had thought,” she began, “I know you normally would never have been so rude to our guest.” She then turned to Darrion. “He has taken this so very hard, you see. What is it that you have in mind?”

  Gregg, feeling his own anger flare at his wife’s presumptuousness, turned his attention back to the taller man, catching the implication that Stanton had something up his sleeve.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Stanton patronized, his voice oozing with sham affection, “I can certainly understand the stress you must be under. As I said earlier, that is why I came, to offer my assistance.”

  Resigned to the fact that he had to listen, Windham crossed his arms and sighed. He had a feeling this was going to cost him greatly. “Alright, Stanton, what is it?”