“No!” she cried out.
Snatching his hand back, Holder exclaimed: “Okay, okay. I won’t touch you.”
“Please,” she said while flailing around with her fingers. Understanding her gesture, he laid his jacket over her chest, then grabbed a towel to cover her legs. She pulled the jacket up to her neck.
“Kate, we don’t have much time. Can you tell me anything about what happened?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “You already know. They took me.”
“No, I mean now, here in Langley.” He spoke very slowly, as if to a small child.
She lifted her head slightly and scanned the bathroom. “Langley? When did I…?”
“Two days ago, from Germany.”
Laying her head down to stop the pain, she wailed: “I…I don’t remember!!”
“Don’t worry! It’s because you were hit on the head. Just rest.”
Not worry? Am I losing my mind?
She breathed out and in, in and out, trying to calm herself. She did not succeed.
A siren screamed in the distance, signaling the imminent arrival of the paramedics. “Kate?” he implored.
“What?” Kate responded resentfully. A moment ago she’d dismissed Holder from her thoughts, because she needed to regroup, to reorganize her brain, to regain control. She didn’t want to listen to him.
Sensing her annoyance, Holder hesitated. Then he inhaled deeply and looked directly at her, putting his hand over hers. She didn’t pull back, but opened her eyes and met his gaze with a sigh. She waited.
“I…I have to tell you, before they get here. In Germany, when you got caught…. Things were going on here in the States, demanding my attention, but I should’ve done more.” His voice was husky with emotion, and his eyes flitted away, before he compelled them back to her face. “I am sorry,” he said simply.
She focused on him, exhaled, and shook her head ever so slightly. Pulling her hand out from under his, she withdrew into herself again.
HOLDER was rising when Morgan reappeared in the doorway to inform him that the paramedics had arrived. Almost immediately he was replaced by a male paramedic. Catching sight of him, Holder protested under his breath: “Oh, shit.” He intercepted the man before he could reach Kate and guided him back into the living room, where a second paramedic, a woman, was dumping gear on the coffee table. When he saw her, Holder murmured: “Thank goodness.” The man started to speak, but Holder cut him off. “Not you,” Holder said in his most officious voice. “She wants the woman,” he said, pointing at the other paramedic.
The two paramedics exchanged glances, then the man waved his hand, and she gathered up her gear and made for the bedroom. After asking Holder her name, she knelt down and said: “Hi, Kate. I’m Ann.”
Drawing in a sharp breath and forcing her eyes open, Kate cried: “Jan?”
No, Jan isn’t here. I’m an idiot.
“No, my name’s Ann,” the paramedic said patiently, opening her kit. “I need to you to tell me where you’re hurt.”
A tiny smile flickered over Kate’s lips. “Everywhere.” For ten minutes, Ann examined Kate and initiated treatment, eventually announcing they would transport her to George Washington University Hospital. At that news Kate pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes more tightly together. She’d spent far too much time in hospitals recently, and the thought was almost unbearable. It was more bearable than the pain, however, and she nodded almost imperceptibly.
Holder stood by her as they wheeled the gurney through the apartment and down to the ambulance. After loading Kate in, Holder and Morgan climbed into his car, and they set off. Sirens broke a path through Langley’s late morning traffic, and the ambulance dropped into potholes and careened around corners. The gurney bumped and shifted, and each movement intensified Kate’s pain.
Holding her eyes shut against the light, she sought to screen out the pain by channeling her mind back into its normal paths. But each time she thought she’d regained control, a new glut of images flashed through her brain, and control slid out of her grasp again. She decided she would try to force order onto the images. The idea of a jigsaw puzzle came to her, and she struggled to put the pieces in their correct places. In the background Kate kept hearing drums. Or was it throbbing? Then the bed she was lying on was rolling again. She opened her eyes in panic, and the sunlight blinded her. She shut them and returned to her puzzle.
Why can’t I fit the pieces together? I can’t remember anything!
The left side of the gurney hit a curb, and it felt like someone had kicked her. Despite the surge in pain, she smiled.
A kick! God, I remember!
When they got to the hospital, she was rushed into the ER, where she was cleaned up and her injuries assessed. Holder hovered. After an hour the ER doctor prescribed further tests. Before they moved her to the other section of the hospital, Holder showed up at her bedside.
“Everything’s taken care of, the paperwork, I mean,” he told her. Kate didn’t react. “Kate?”
“Good,” she said, keeping her eyes shut tight.
“Have you remembered anything?”
“No.” She didn’t want to tell him, even about her small memory of being kicked, before considering what her memories meant…and what role he played in them.
Holder had to move out of the way as they rolled Kate toward the elevator. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back.” Kate raised a hand. He made his way out through the ER.
WHILE she was being tested, Kate tried and tried to picture the time before and after she’d been kicked, but in vain. Beyond the kick, something else was tapping at the back of her mind, pressing to get out. She told herself to relax, breathe, and quiet her mind. It didn’t help. Then, during one of the tests, a conversation between two technicians penetrated her consciousness.
“Who are these tests going to?” one man asked.
“Lemme look,” the other answered. “Dr. Watrous. You know, the hot new resident on the fourth floor.”
Kate was certain there was something about the name. Dr. Watrous. The tapping increased. Suddenly it burst out. Dr. Wat…. Dr. Watson! Sherlock Holmes!
I was watching The Hound of the Baskervilles, then I heard the key in the lock.
Her thoughts froze. A key! The implications were overwhelming. She shivered, this time not because she was cold.
KATE was lying in a bed in a room on the fourth floor, the tests completed. They’d refused her request for pain medication, and she was hurting, badly. Despite the pain, every so often a fleeting wisp of a memory emerged from the fog in her brain. Yet as close as she was getting to the truth, her mind was overflowing with seemingly unrelated details. She thought she remembered feeling suffocated; she thought she remembered feeling like she was drowning; she knew she remembered the kick and the sound of the key in the lock. But how were they related? Then there were the drums, the constant drums. Round and round it went, draining her already limited energy.
“Dr. Taylor?”
Kate opened her eyes and saw a woman in a white lab coat whose name tag read Dr. Barbara Watrous. She was in her early thirties with chin-length, blond hair and brown eyes. Thank God, Dr. Watrous was a woman. Kate almost smiled.
“How are you feeling?”
Kate took in a deep breath. “Ah…” she stumbled. She had to give herself a little mental shake to express herself