Amnesia Read online

  Again he shook his head, wondering what had happened to his clothing. The only thing he could remember of it was that someone was pulling at them, and him, although why, and who, he couldn’t be sure. Was it someone dragging him maybe? Perhaps it was children, playing with him, as his nieces and nephews did. He couldn’t remember, so simply lifted the other leg to take another step.

  Freezing to death. He had always been so frightened of freezing to death. He remembered hearing stories of pioneers walking across the country pulling handcarts, just stopping, lying down, and falling asleep—never to rise again. It frightened him to the core when he had first heard the tales. Now he realized that the fear had never really left him.

  It began with him being frightened of sleeping, until his mother sat down with him one night and finally asked him why he always fought going to bed. At first he refused to answer, but in the end he blurted it all out to his mom, who in turn explained what freezing to death really was. It had helped him go to bed, but he still wasn’t too keen on the cold.

  Suddenly he stopped, listening. Was it the wind changing? Or did he hear a voice just then? He stood as still as he could opening his mouth wide to stop his teeth from chattering long enough to strain for another sound, irrationally hoping that another would come. He wasn’t disappointed. It was a voice, although he couldn’t make out the words or the direction from whence they came. Hope filled his breast, scattering the fears that had beset him. He listened as intently as he could, putting all his might into locating the source of the sound.

  He could clearly tell now that it wasn’t the wind, but rather was a voice, a low, caring voice. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but he knew that the person possessing that voice would give him the aid he so desperately needed.

  He lifted his foot high enough to clear the snow and set it down again, his long stride eating up nearly a yard of the distance between him and where he hoped the voice originated. He strained his eyes ahead, searching frantically for something to tell him that he had chosen the correct path.

  His foot came down firmly, landing on something slippery and squishy. He unconsciously jerked his leg back up and looked down to see what he had stepped on. How could something like that have been felt through the cold of his foot, especially after being buried in the snow? Only there was no snow.

  He cast about wildly, trying in vain to comprehend what was happening to him. For miles around him the snow was completely gone, as if it had never existed. Instead, he was surrounded by millions of snakes. Slithering tongues could be seen sliding out of triangular heads, the reptiles crawling on top, around, and through other scaly bodies.

  The wind too was absent, replaced by a constant hissing from the crowded mass, driving away the hope so recently garnered. He searched for a place to at least sit and rest his aching body, but saw no vacant space to lower himself without landing in a pile of creeping serpents. He took a tentative step with his right foot, pushing his toes gingerly between the vipers, forcing an opening, finding at last solid ground. Then he tried for the left, first pulling it slowly from the reptiles coiled around it, then picking through the jumbled bodies to find a foot hold again.

  Then the voice came again. This time he could decipher the words, but they made no sense. “Okay, Mr. John Doe, I’m Dolores, and I will be helping you with your bath. Just relax, and let me do the work. I’ve done this lots of times before. Yessir, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

  Again he looked around for the disembodied voice, but saw nothing but a blazing sun directly over his head, and a landscape completely covered with the demons from his nightmares.

  He hung his head, and sobbed.

  * * *

  The annoying beeping just wouldn’t go away. The incessant alarm sounded like a truck backing right over Lissa’s sleeping head. She swung an arm out in the general vicinity she hoped it was in, missing by a mere two feet.

  It hadn’t been a good night for her. Her uneventful weekend was turned upside down when her best friend in med school had called Sunday night, giving here the exciting news of the twins she was expecting, her fourth and fifth children. After a long and mostly thrilled conversation, she had sincerely wished her ex-roommate hearty congratulations, and hung up collapsing into a fit of uncontrollable sobs.

  She really was happy for her friend’s joy, but couldn’t dispel the poignant longing deep inside of her, a longing she was beginning to wonder would ever be sated. She had wept, prayed, and wept some more, feeling abandoned by her Father in Heaven in her time of need. It hadn’t been until after two o’clock this morning that sleep had finally overcome her exhausted body.

  Again she reached out to silence the alarm, missing again by over two feet. Finally she lifted her head and her eyelids to blearily locate the obnoxious sound, at last finding the culprit, the digital alarm clock sitting on her bedside table, and eliminated the wail.

  Five o’clock. Who in their right mind would get up at five A.M.? She snuggled back under her comforter-topped electric blanket and started drifting off again, only to be roused moments later by a banging on her apartment door.

  At first she tried to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint that someone in here was trying to sleep, but the beating just became louder and more insistent. She irritably pulled the blankets back, called out she was coming, and threw her pink terry robe over her nightgown.

  First checking through the peephole, muttering something about how useless they were, she angrily unlocked the dead bolt, leaving the chain attached. “Darrion is that you!” she snarled through the two inch opening.

  “Boise Police ma’am. Are you Ms. Clarissa Brandon?” came the polite inquiry.

  Police? She thought, searching her mind for what they could possibly be wanting of her. “Just a minute.” She closed the door, slid off the chain, and then pulled it back open revealing two men in dark blue uniforms sporting the traditional police badge.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “Can we come in ma’am?” the first officer asked. He was holding a clipboard with the ubiquitous white, pink and goldenrod copy paper attached. She noticed that the paper was nearly full, and she spotted her name written a couple of times on it.

  “Of course,” she said, pulling the door open wide allowing the two to enter. “Right this way,” she called, leading them into the living room area, glancing at her bedraggled countenance in the hall mirror on the way. She noted that her light brown, almost blonde hair was matted and lying lifeless on her oval head. Her eyes were still bloodshot and puffy from the short sleep and long cry of the previous night, and she felt like she was quite possibly looking the worst she had ever looked. She sighed realizing there was little she could do. There was no real reason to impress the two lawmen anyhow.

  In the living room there were two sofas sitting opposite each other separated by a glass coffee table. On the table were a few recent copies of The Ensign and New Era, along with a large bowl containing dozens of blue marble looking rocks. She had never understood what the rocks were for, but it seemed to add the right touch to the table.

  Crossing the room to sit on the couch facing the door, she pulled her feet under her body to keep them warm, and gestured at the other, inviting the two men to sit. Guiltily she looked around the room, seeing the empty ice cream bowl and Kleenexes littered around the sofa, coffee table and floor, evidence of the emotional night she had just experienced. For a moment she panicked wondering what the peace officers would think of her mess, but the thought was quickly discarded when she noted the serious look on their faces.

  “Sorry to disturb you ma’am, but we need to discuss a few things with you, and it can’t wait,” started the man with the clipboard without preamble.

  “I’m Officer Lowell, and this is Officer Renke. We are responding to calls of a prowler in the area. It appears that someone has been going through your garbage and has broken into your car. We had one witness that claims to have seen a man t
aking something out of your car, and we would like to have you take a look and see if anything is missing. Actually, it appears that they beat the car up pretty badly. Might need to get another. Insurance may help with that though, seeing as it was a criminal act.”

  Lissa felt the blood drain from her face as comprehension cut through her sleep clouded brain. Someone was looking through her garbage? Yuck! And broke into her car? What was in her car? Nothing of any value, even the radio barely worked. And then trashed it as well? She shook her head to try to make it settle into some sense, but it still didn’t add up in her mind.

  “Sure, I’ll take a look. I just need to get dressed. I’m due at the hospital for rounds in an hour or so.”

  “Of course, ma’am. But before you do, can you tell us who ‘Darrion’ is?” Officer Lowell asked.

  “Darrion? Darrion Stanton? He’s my fiancé. Well, not really, more a boyfriend. Well, not really even that, more just a guy I know at work. He wants to be my fiancé, but I don’t want to marry, him, and…why am I telling you all of this? Why do you want to know about Darrion?”

  “Well, ma’am, it appears that the suspect singled you out as his victim. No one else’s things were touched, just yours. Do you think this Darrion Stanton would have done this? Can you think of anyone else?”

  “No way. Darrion may be a bit arrogant, even priggish, but he would never do anything like this. Even though he hated that car…. No Officer, I have no idea who could have done it. Only creepy person I know is Mr. Dall, and I doubt he would even do this.”

  “Mr. Ernest Dall?” Lowell clarified.

  “Yes, my landlord. He appears to have a bit of a crush on me, one that is in no way reciprocated, and it seems like he’s always right behind me when I turn around. But he stays here at the complex and I doubt he would do something right here on the grounds. He’s just a little creepy, that’s all.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Officer Lowell jotted some more information at the bottom of the clipboard. “Now if you wouldn’t mind meeting us back at your car, to see if something is missing?”

  “Sure, just give me ten minutes.” Lissa closed the door and returned to her room to dress. Her mind was reeling with the implications of what the policeman had said, and implied. Could Darrion really have done this? The thought of his Italian loafers and tailored suit standing in a dumpster would have prompted her to laughter had this not all been so surreal. It had never occurred to her that someone would be stalking her, knew her car and where she lived, and perhaps was even watching her now.

  She stopped dead just as she pulled her blouse in place and slowly looked around the room, searching for a tell-tale sign of a Peeping Tom. She noticed the diagonal crack between the shades and the window where she had haphazardly let the slats fall several weeks earlier. Could someone have stood there looking on while she slept, or clothed? Looking up she saw several gaps where the popcorn texture had fallen away. Could a nanny-cam be hiding up there? Where else could someone have hidden a camera or listening device? It was unnerving and she kept checking around her as she completed her outfit, to see if there was someone there, studying her home and watching her dress. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought, realizing that just minutes ago she had been sound asleep while some strange man was forcing himself into her life.

  Finally she took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and resolutely determined that she was not going to let this creep win. She marched out the door, down the three flights of stairs and out to the waiting police.

  The four police cruisers, two with their lights still flashing, started to eat away at her unfounded bravado. When she finally saw her beloved car, she almost entirely lost her resolve, the fear hitting her in a wave as the reality gaped back at her. Tears stung at her eyes as she viewed the carnage, wondering why anyone would do that to any car, let alone hers.

  The trunk had been forced open, apparently with a tire iron, and the few items it held, jumper cables, emergency road kit, and first aid kit had been regurgitated out onto the ground and emptied. Similarly the hood was wrenched open, ignoring the hood latch under the dash, and wires, hoses and miscellaneous engine parts were scattered across the pavement; a puzzle, not unlike Humpty Dumpty, that could never be put back together again.

  From there it got vicious. The driver seat had been ripped out of the car, the upholstery completely peeled back in strips, the stuffing pulled out and tossed about the lot. The other seats too had the upholstery slashed and the cushions removed a handful at a time. The dashboard had been beaten down, the plastic smashed, and the body, also having received the knife’s attention, hanging as if by threads. Even the steering wheel was not untouched, and was hanging out of the steering column by wires.

  As icing on the cake the perpetrator had scratched obscenities into the paint on whatever had not been touched, including writing her name and several rough hearts strewn about. On the driver’s door was scrawled “i luv u LissA.” As a final slap each window had been shattered and each tire slashed.

  Lissa stopped dead in her tracks, sank to the ground, the tears thought spent the previous night reappearing. Accompanying the deluge were deep throaty sobs that reached deep into her already raw emotions, the fruits of grief and fear. Officer Lowell moved over and knelt down to her. “You okay ma’am?”

  Raising her head slightly to see the compassionate face, she slowly shook her head, grabbed her sides tightly, and cried even harder.

  Officer Lowell reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly, knowing from experience that there was little he could do to help. He simply stated, “We’ll do all we can for you ma’am. It seems someone either really hates you or really loves you.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Officer Bill Lowell let his eyes scan down the handwritten report, double-checking for any mistakes or oversights. Satisfied, he added his signature and glanced at the watch on his left wrist, noting the time at 06:33. He sighed, stood, and stepped over to the watch commander’s desk, adding his paperwork to the mountain already sitting in the inbox. The man behind the desk glanced up at the motion then sat back in his swivel chair closing the Idaho Statesman newspaper and tossing it onto the cluttered desk. He reached over and grabbed the half-full coffee mug and started swinging slowly back and forth in his chair as he took in the sight of the tall man standing opposite him.

  Police Captain Jack McConnell scanned over Lowell taking in the crisp creases on the off-duty light blue polo shirt, which looked like it was fresh from the press rather than sitting in his locker for the past ten hours. Even his blue jeans seemed ready for a parade with their impeccable stitching, razor-sharp creases, and absolute cleanliness. Even his New Balance cross-trainers seemed to gleam with polish.

  “Headed home Lowell?”

  “Yessir.”

  “A little late aren’t you? Your shift ended over half an hour ago,” continued the man, senior in both age and rank.

  “Just a little, sir.” Lowell really didn’t like to have his hours scrutinized, nor did he like the almost patronizing tone he heard. He also knew that his older friend was right, that he was spending way too much time at work. “I just needed to finish the report on Lissa's car.”

  “Lissa?” asked the commander, eyebrows lifting at the accidental use of the nickname.

  “Clarissa Brandon, sir,” he corrected, feeling a red flush creeping into his tan face. He realized the second he had said it that he had slipped from the professionalism mandated when referring to victims. Not only had he missed calling her “Ms. Brandon,” he had used her nickname, something he knew was inappropriate.

  “Cool down, Bill,” the seated man placated. “I am just worried about you. Sure a half-hour overtime won’t kill ya, but this is the earliest I’ve seen you go home in nearly a month. It’s almost like you don’t want to go home.”

  Bill bristled at the insinuation, preferring an angry lecture to the sympathetic coddling. Too many well-wishers had used the tactic on him for too long and he didn’t need
it coming from his superior. Lowell had been known as a tough “man’s man,” always eager to get into the middle of the fray despite the risk. He liked the feel of living on the edge and was an adrenaline junky both on and off the job. Then in one moment that had all changed.

  “Sorry, sir. I won’t let it happen again. Is there anything else?”

  “Come on Bill, we’ve been through way too much for this.” He paused, took a sip from the coffee-stained mug and eyed the boyish but rugged-handsome face that had become more than a son than a subordinate. He stopped swiveling in the chair and leaned forward resting his elbows on the scratched surface of the watch desk. Cupping his hands in front of him with the left on top he rested his jaw on his thumbs with the chin jutting into the impression they created. The two stared at each other in an almost palpably awkward silence.

  The uneasiness was finally broken when the older man sat back once more. “Why don’t you come around on Wednesday?” he asked. “Nancy will fix one of her famous dinners and you can get a chance to play some games with Kate. They really miss you, you know. Kate still remembers you “proposing” to her when she was three and wonders why you haven’t been around. I told her you were just busy. So what do you say?”

  The younger man blew out his breath, realizing that his friend was just that, being a friend. He looked down at the Padres cap he held in his hands and nodded his head. “Sure Jack. Sounds like fun. What time?”

  “Nancy’s shift at the hospital ends at four, so why don’t we make it six.”

  “See you then. Have a good weekend.”

  He turned, headed toward the locker room to grab his gear, and almost missed the last comment spoken under the breath of the watch commander. “Maybe I’ll have Nancy bring that cute doc over too. That should prove fun.”