The voices went silent. She began to fade into the depths of her black world. Some new instinct made her struggle, no longer content to welcome the emptiness. Searching through the darkness, fighting against oblivion, she sought one special voice.
And then, miraculously, he was there.
“Amanda, it’s Jonathan Taylor, your doctor. I know you can hear me. You’re safe and you’re recovering. You’ll still be a beautiful woman. Amanda, remember, I’m the best….”
She wanted to answer him, to tell him she understood. She tried to open her eyes, to let him see her comprehension, but the darkness rushed back, drowning her in cool oblivion.
THERE WAS A BRIGHT, blinding light. The darkness vanished, and with it her endless drifting. She opened her eyes. Where was she?
She found she couldn’t move; she was alone, flat on her back, covered by a white sheet, surrounded by white: walls, ceiling, everything—white. She was in a whole new world. Heaven?
Where was her angel?
He would guide her through this new world. He would be her lifeline, her anchor in this unknown.
She drifted off into darkness once more, but this time it felt different.
When she opened her eyes again she realized she was lying in a hospital bed. Why? How had she gotten here? She couldn’t remember. And she couldn’t move, she was anchored to the bed in such a way that she couldn’t even shift her head.
Why was she here? She lay there, flexing her fingers to prove to herself that she was alive, frustrated and fighting her stubborn memory.
She drew in a deep breath, trying to take stock of herself. She couldn’t move, couldn’t really see much, but she could feel. Something hard and cold pressed against her face. When she tried to lift one hand to explore it, she realized her left wrist was strapped down with a tube leading out of her arm. Her eyes followed the tube up to an IV bag hung on an aluminum stand. Cautiously she shifted her gaze to the right.
“Goodness, you’re awake!”
The voice startled her. It belonged to a woman with a pale face dressed in a uniform jacket covered with butterflies. Her mind searched for a moment. Monarchs.
The nurse smiled. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Where is my angel?”
The smile disappeared. The nurse took her wrist and checked her over as if she were a specimen.
“Jonathan.” Her voice was a soft whisper that sounded hollow to her. Strange. Not like Jonathan’s voice.
“You mean you want to see Dr. Taylor?”
Instinctively she moved her head on the pillow, and that small effort caused an explosion behind her eyes.
“Don’t try to move.” The nurse’s face started to fade. “Stay awake and I’ll get the doctors for you.”
The pain in her head began to settle. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid the darkness would engulf her again. She was alone and afraid. If he didn’t come soon, the whiteness might swallow her up and she’d disappear forever.
“Amanda. Amanda, can you hear me?”
She must have closed her eyes after all, for she found she had to open them to see him. The brightness dissolved in his dark hair, making it easier to see. His eyes were a mixture of blue and green and gold, just as she remembered. He was here at last. She wasn’t alone.
She sighed. “I thought you were an angel.”
The nurse laughed. “That’s a new one.”
He leaned over her so she wouldn’t have to strain to see him. “How do you feel?”
“You are…the best, Jonathan.”
The words made him smile. The nurse laughed out loud somewhere behind her, but she looked only at Jonathan. His smile was infectious, crinkling his eyes at the corners and slashing deep dimples in his cheeks. She wanted to share that smile, so she attempted one herself. Pain stabbed through her face.
“Hurts.”
“Amanda, don’t try to smile.” His angel face hardened. Suddenly he was just a man. “You have a plate on your nose and wires in your jaw and in your mouth. Don’t let that worry you. You’re going to be fine.”
“Why?” She suddenly realized it hurt to talk, but she had to know why. Why did she hurt?
He bent over her, and a wave of dark hair fell over his eyes. He tossed his head to clear the stray lock away. She could smell him; his masculinity permeated the scent of lime aftershave.
“I want you to rest now. Don’t worry about anything.”
“Can’t close my…eyes.” Every word she forced out through her lips brought pain. “The darkness…”
“No more darkness. I promise.”
Despite her pain and fear, she believed him without question. She looked into his eyes, trusting that whatever he told her was true.
“You’ll just sleep. And when you wake up, your aunt and uncle will be here.”
Aunt and uncle? Pain centered at her temples in deep, hot throbs.
“You won’t have to talk to the police about the night of the attack until you’re feeling a lot better.”
Police? Attack? She stared up at him, trying to hold back her rising panic. The throbbing in her head spread down her body. She didn’t understand his words.
She knew so much about this world. She knew what a hospital was, what a doctor and a nurse did. She knew an aunt and uncle were members of a family. She understood those things. But police? Attack? She sensed that these words should make her afraid.
Jonathan was turning to go. He was going to leave her.
“Please.”
But even he couldn’t stem this rising tide of fear. It washed over her as she struggled with all this new information, trying to fit the pieces together.
The nurse came and looked at her. There was no comfort in her eyes.
She struggled against her doubts. Nothing fit. She believed him, but nothing he said made any sense. She tried to think of something else. There was nothing. Nothing in her mind. Her past was as dark as the oblivion she had drifted in for so long; black and empty and forever.
The only concrete images she could conjure up were of him—Jonathan.
“Please.” She tried again.
“Amanda?” He turned back to her, just as she wanted him to. “Are you in pain?” His forehead creased, and the light disappeared from his eyes.
Physical pain she understood. It defined her whole being in this new world. It was meaningless compared to her rising terror.
She didn’t have one tangible memory about herself. About what had happened to her before she’d opened her eyes and saw Jonathan looking down at her.
Amanda. He called her that, so it must be her name.
But she couldn’t remember what she looked like. Did she have dark hair like him or fair hair like the nurse? What color were her eyes?
She couldn’t remember what she was like. Was she kind and good like Jonathan? If so, why would someone attack her? And someone must have. That much she understood. Had she made someone angry? How?
Who loved her?
Who hated her?
“I’m afraid.” Her whisper tumbled out, turning into a sob that echoed against the stark white walls.