by Ross Elder
But, then, I also have flashes of being alone much of the time. Traveling, sometimes internationally, a lot of time in cars, both driving and sitting. There are women in my memory other than the very naughty Mrs. Harris. Quite a few women, actually - faceless and unimportant. Flings? My memories have no emotion attached to them. They are just poorly-shot, amateur, documentary films that fade out just as the important scene hits the screen.
They are finding it difficult to keep me here. Harold tells me any normal patient would have been released into the care of a relative by now, but they have no one to whom I can be released. They don’t think I’m a danger to anyone, especially not myself but, they are concerned I may experience some very troubling flashbacks or blackouts. Coming out of a coma with resultant amnesia doesn’t even have a care plan they can send home with me. They have no idea what will happen. It’s encouraging to finally hear the medical industry admit they don’t know everything but it is also frightening when that lack of knowledge directly pertains to you.
The voice urging me to escape faded the moment they informed me I would be taken home to, “See how it goes.” They assigned a psychiatric nurse to accompany me and report back. Toni was quick to volunteer; perhaps too quickly. The hospital agreed, though. I have to admit, I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have with me. It’s strictly a matter of professional trust, of course. Strictly. No ulterior motives whatsoever. None.
Toni’s car was a neat, little Subaru. Kind of sporty, and she drove it that way. She also cussed at the other drivers on the road. Like, a lot. The woman is a menace behind the wheel. I kept slamming my foot onto the passenger side floorboard as I stomped on an imaginary brake pedal.
We quickly shopped for food. She’s a smart girl. She assumed that, since I had been away from home for at least two weeks, most of the food in my refrigerator would have spoiled by now. Simple things; milk, eggs, bread, sandwich meats, cheeses.
Toni pulled into one of the parking spaces marked, “Future Tenant Parking” outside the apartment management office and I saw the blinds pull back in a window. Soon, there was Mrs. Harris, opening the door to her office and stepping out to greet us. She almost ran toward me. We embraced, and she kissed my cheek softly. Her hands felt familiar against my back and shoulders. She whispered her relief in my ear. She said she had been crippled with worry. I tried to reassure her that I was doing better and I would be back to my old self soon. It felt like a lie as it passed my lips. I don’t know if I will be back to my old self. I don’t know if I will find Mrs. Harris, with her lithe, alluring figure, once again in my bed. Or, on the kitchen table, as was my one memory. Jesus, did we ever even use the bed? Was that just a brief thing, she and I? Is she going to come knocking on my door later tonight?
A freshly cut set of replacement keys were placed in my hand. A door key, a storage room key, and an electronic key-fob for the gym and pool areas dangled from a rubbery keychain shaped like a house. I instantly hated that and decided I would discard it later when Mrs. Harris wasn’t looking.
“I had the girls give it a good cleaning yesterday. Everything should be spotless,” Mrs. Harris told us as she walked us through the courtyard garden toward a row of townhouses.
The little sundress was riding up her thighs as she stepped and there was a nice sway to her hips. Toni obviously saw me watching. She raised a brow at me and almost gave a wink. Almost. She is grinning playfully. Toni held on to my left arm as we walked, just to be sure I was stable enough and strong enough for the exertion.
Mrs. Harris is standing in the doorway now, waving her left arm, inviting us to enter. I brushed against her a little as I passed. I think she moved toward me at that moment to ensure I would. Naughty girl.
“Wow. Nice place, Morgan,” Toni said after entering the living room.
“Yeah.” It was all I could think to say. The interior seemed to match that of my foggy memory. Everything is new or appears to be. Clean, orderly, almost like it is one of those model apartments they show people who are interested in renting there. Kind of boring. Well, there’s a bookshelf. That’s something. As I walk closer, I’m scanning the titles and authors – Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney, Jason Matthews, Dalton Fury, and Tom Rob Smith, among others. Nonfiction titles from Edward Lucas, Antonio J. Mendez, Bing West, and more. Richard Belzer? All sorts of books. What appears to be military manuals as well; boring packaging but interesting titles on subjects such as counterterrorism, intelligence operations, and, geez, explosive ordnance disposal. I hope I’m not on a watch list somewhere.
Several books by a Roger Upton appear to have Post-It notes and other placeholders throughout the pages. It looks like they are mostly about impending doom and apocalyptic predictions. I own four copies of the King James Bible, each different in size and quality. One is small, and the cover is a desert camouflage pattern.
“Big bed! Lots of room for all of your girlfriends!” Toni is giggling strangely from the second floor. Glancing at Mrs. Harris, I see a knowing look in her eyes. The corner of her mouth is curled. She’s blushing a little. Yeah, so am I.
I’m moving toward Toni’s voice, but there is a sense of discord in my head. Something isn’t right. Something is missing. What is it? Everything seems so…sterile. Unused. Was I away from home all the time? Books. All I do is read? Not that I’m opposed to reading but, where are my other interests? Photos? Hell, even movie posters or drink coasters purloined from a local nightclub? There is nothing.
Toni is seated, bouncing on the foot of the bed. Even under the generic scrubs, her figure is moving attractively against the fabric. She’s still giggling, kicking her feet slightly because they don’t reach the floor. She must see the confusion on my face. She is no longer giggling and bouncing. She’s staring into my eyes. She’s asking me if I am okay. I can only nod. Suddenly she is on her feet and moving toward the bathroom. She says she’s going to make sure I have all the toiletries I will need and that she can always run out and grab a few things if necessary.
Mrs. Harris just cleared her throat quietly from the doorway. Facing her now, she cocks her head toward the hallway, silently requesting I join her. I’m reluctant, but I do so.
“Welcome home, Morgan. I’m very happy to have you back,” she tells me, her little hands against my chest and another soft kiss placed on my cheek. Her right hand is in my left now. There’s something in her hand. She’s handing me something. Another key and chain. Glancing down at my palm, I see it. 2752. It must be the townhouse next to mine. Mr. Harris must be a very unhappy man. I slip the keys into my pants pocket because I don’t want Toni to see them. So, the horny manager lives next door. You have a complicated life, Morgan. Way to go. That can’t possibly end well.
I walk Mrs. Harris to the door with Toni trotting along behind us. She’s gone now, and we are alone, Toni and me. My mind is reeling a bit. Toni is talking, but I’m not really listening. I don’t know what to do. What do I do in this place? Should I go sit in the recliner by the window and read a book? Should I turn on ESPN and watch some sporting event? Dance naked in the upstairs window?
“Just relax. I’ll go get the groceries and then we can have a bite to eat.”
Alone. It is sudden and thorough and undeniable. I am alone. In my mind, I know Toni will return, but that doesn’t assuage the feeling of complete loneliness. I’m pacing the floor, struggling against this sensation. A shadow crosses the doorway, and I stop. The police. There’s a cop standing in my doorway. That same cop from the hospital but now he isn’t in uniform. He is wearing what appears to be an off the shelf, department store suit in dark gray.
“Hello…officer.” What else do you say?
“Hi, Morgan. I see you are getting settled.”
“Somewhat. Working on your day off, or something?” Why isn’t he in uniform?
“Actually, no. I’m a detective. Sometimes we work extra shifts to cover for the uniform guys. That’s what I was doing when I came to the hospital. And, because of that, the chief of
Ds decided to put me on your case.” Now he’s inside, standing near the kitchen table.
“I see. So, what can I do for you?” The guy is looking around. I can’t tell if it is curious, or investigative in nature. Toni just entered and is quietly putting the groceries away. I guess she didn’t want to interrupt.
“What do you do for a living, Morgan? Have you figured that out yet?”
I am stammering, trying to answer calmly, but I’m failing. “I’m a consultant. Business stuff. Boring, or at least it seems that way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I…well…yeah, I’m sure. That’s my job. Everyone seems to know.” Except me, of course. “Why?”
“Have you been watching the news? Those bodies they found a few miles from where you were found crawling on the side of the road? I think maybe you were there too, Morgan. I think there’s a lot we don’t know about you and I don’t like that very much.”
The world is dark again. I’m still conscious, I think. I can hear. I hear voices. I see shadows.
“Keep thinking and remembering, Morgan. I’ll be back. And I’m going to keep trying to figure you out. I wouldn’t leave town if I were you.”
Chapter Nine
September 11, 2016
“Morgan? Hellooo. Anyone in there?”
She is so pretty, my Toni. She looks a little concerned for some reason. Wait. Where…
“Um, where’d you go?”
“What?” I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been right here.
“You were, uh, spaced out for a while. Gazing off into the middle distance. It was kinda hot.” She’s laughing at me. The detective is gone. I’m no longer all alone. Something is cooking on the stovetop. Some sort of pasta, I’m guessing. “Here,” she’s pulled out a seat at the table. “Sit down. Take a few breaths.” She is patting my hand comfortingly.
“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I’m just having trouble adjusting and absorbing my surroundings. Things are still a little confusing.”
“It is confusing, even to me.” She’s up now, responding to the beeping timer on the stove. Her back is to me, and my eyes uncontrollably wander to her derriere. Apparently, I’m a pig. “Your house is kind of…weird, I guess. Weird would be a good word.”
“Why is that?” Should I be offended? Is she insulting my taste in décor?
“It’s like…I don’t know. It just isn’t your typical bachelor pad, I guess.”
“Seen a lot of those, have you?” I’m kidding, I think. Has she? She just shot me a glance over her shoulder with narrowed eyes. Totally hot.
“I’ve seen my share.” Smiling again. Such a tease. “But, no, seriously,” a pause, “I don’t think you brought girls here unless those cleaning ladies disposed of everything.” I didn’t understand where she was going with this and I told her so. “Unless it is a spur of the moment, just hooked up in a bar, sort of thing, girls generally bring things with them when they stay over at a guy’s place. Their own shampoo, maybe a bar of their moisturizer soap, something. There’s nothing here. There isn’t even a box of condoms, or lubricant, or anything else related to normal sexual relations.” Geez, she sounds awfully clinical. Not sexy in the least. Besides, Mrs. Harris lives next door. It would be unlikely she would need to bring over her own things if she could just walk home afterward.
“Maybe I’m gay?” There’s that over-the-shoulder glance again. Her stare lasted a few seconds.
“Naw. There would definitely be lube.” So, now we are both laughing. My laugh fades before hers. “I’m sure I’m just overthinking it. You know? Trying to help you play detective and figure this all out.”
Dinner was served. It was your basic, grocery store fair, with dry pasta and sauce from a jar. The smell of French bread gave the house a warm feeling. It smelled like someone’s home. Someones, but is it mine? Is it me? What is missing from this picture-perfect residence? Me. I’m missing. Why haven’t I placed any pictures or artwork on the walls? Is it new? Have I not settled in yet?
“Well, I am officially off the clock.” Toni is standing in front of me. I’m still seated. I’ve lost track of time again. I don’t remember eating, and yet, nothing but smears of sauce remain on the plate. I’m staring at her. I see her as…something else. Not my nurse. The crushing weight of impending loneliness bears down upon my chest. Pain arrives. I am weak and shaking.
“You’re leaving?” It came out weak and pathetic.
“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t have to leave. I was just saying I’m not officially on duty anymore. Not, you know, today.”
“Oh.”
“We can, um, watch some television, or something.” She’s looking at the flat screen in the living room, probably wondering if I even have cable.
“Television,” I mimicked.
“Or, something. I’ll be right back. I need to grab something out of the car.” My expression must have changed because hers did as well. Was she trying to escape? Is she using that as an excuse to just bail on this situation and get away from the psycho patient? My fears were allayed by her soft hand against my left cheek. “Really, I’ll be right back.”
I observed from the living room window as she quickly walked to her car. She opened the trunk and removed a backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and began her walk back to my door. She’s in a hurry, but I wonder if it is to conceal what she is doing, as opposed to hastening our reunion. But, something else is out of place. The cars in the parking lot seem abnormal. There are too many of them. I must know how many people live in this complex. Somehow, I know how many parked vehicles are acceptable. A dark SUV and a dark sedan are out of place. I don’t know how I know, but I know. They don’t belong here. Someone is in the SUV. The setting sun is passing through the tinted windows, and I can see a shadow there. An occupied vehicle sitting in the parking lot, the nose of the SUV pointed away from my door. I don’t know what it all means, but I will make a point to check again later.
The door behind me closes with a click, and I turn. Toni is leaning against the door, her hands behind her back with the backpack dangling behind her legs. She looks shy and demure. Unsure, perhaps.
“I, um, packed a few things. You know, just in case I needed to stay over.” She’s smiling at my expression. My approval must be obvious. I nodded. She immediately kicked off her sensible nursing shoes and placed them on the tile in the entryway. “Okay! Um,” she had to flip her hair out of her face after setting the shoes down. “I’m going to…” she’s pointing toward the lower level bathroom now, “…go change clothes.” All I could do was nod again. She basically skipped down the hallway.
Changing into something more comfortable, I suppose. Very cliché but whatever works. I wonder if she is one of those girls who dresses up in complicated lingerie with lots of laces and fasteners? Maybe she’s more of a casual kind of gal, with skimpy shorts and a sheer top? Jesus, I’m imagining these things and analyzing them without really considering the consequences. A beautiful, playful, wonderful woman is about to emerge from my bathroom fully intending to stay the night. I don’t even have a bottle of wine! Or, do I? Maybe? I haven’t looked. There could be some wine somewhere. Do I even like wine?
There is a knock at the door. I approach and peer through the peep-hole. A man, dressed in the expected, boring, brown, deliveryman uniform, is standing there. I open the door.
“Mister McClellan? Package for you, sir. Please sign here.”
A small box was thrust into my hands, and he was off, jogging to his truck and headed off to his next delivery. I closed the door and took the box to the dining table before pulling a steak knife from the cutlery block. A couple of quick slips of the blade and the brown, outer box was open, revealing a smaller box and white packing “peanuts” inside. It’s a phone. Atop the peanuts is a small note.
Mr. McClellan,
We are sorry to hear of your recent troubles. We were able to recover your contacts and other information from the cloud. We have transferred your data to this new mobile d
evice. This is covered by your insurance. There will be no charge for this service.
Get well soon!
Mercall Wireless, Inc.
“Ooh, a new phone. Very nice.” She startled me. I would have dropped said phone if it had been in my hand at the time. I spun around quickly, bumping the open box, the peanuts splashing out onto the tabletop. Her hands immediately covered her mouth, probably stifling a laugh. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
I placed my right hand ever so dramatically over my heart and took a deep breath while Toni picked up the note and read it silently. “Scared the crap out of me.” There she was, in all her perfection - wearing thin, flannel, pajama pants in a light-green, plaid pattern, and a loose-fitting camisole top that appeared to be about three sizes too large for her frame. She’s barefoot, her red-painted toenails accenting her small feet. She smelled of fresh soap and damp beauty. How long had she been in there? She had somehow showered in that time. I searched for a clock, but I couldn’t find one. The time on the stove indicated approximately twenty-five minutes had passed. What the hell have I been doing for twenty-five minutes?
“This is like the latest thing. Looks like they hooked you up, Morgan. When did you order this? While you were in the hospital?” Her eyes are glistening, and I can hear the moisture inside her mouth as her lips part over her teeth. Everything is amplified. It’s as though I am a human antenna and, suddenly, nothing escapes my scrutiny. She has a cute little freckle just a little left of center within her philtrum. The mentolabial sulcus looks as though she had never frowned in her life. Amazing. Superciliary arch, superior palpebral sulcus, all simply…what the hell am I even describing? She’s beautiful, yes. Even her flaws are enticing but, seriously, what do those words even mean and how do I know that?