And Then She Woke Up - Excerpt

AND THEN SHE WOKE UP

Vicki E S Biggs

HISTORY LESSON

In the year 1985, the Cold War between the United States and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), also known as the Soviet Union, was going strong. It would be another six years before it ended. This era was a unique time of discord that was fought behind the scenes by a few specialized agents, rather than thousands of soldiers on big battle fields.

The early 1980’s was a time before the worldwide web was readily available to the average user. The Google search engine had not yet been developed and was not available for researching. The Internet had not gotten beyond Arpanet, the US Department of Defense system that was the basis for the internet that we know today. Computer bulletin boards were used for uploading and downloading software, data, and for reading news by the tech savvy. Exchanging messages between users was done via public message boards as emails weren’t yet available beyond users of Arpanet.

Individuals used rotary landline phones in their homes and businesses. If away from home, they used a payphone. Cell phones existed but were very expensive and bulky. Mostly only businessmen or the wealthy even had them. They came in two forms: built into your car or large brick-like handheld boxes with a pullout antenna to improve connectivity.

Personal Computers (PCs) and laptops didn’t exist yet. Instead, programmers worked with enormous mainframe computers that could and often did take up entire rooms that were kept very cold to protect the processors from overheating.

Access to these huge machines was limited to system operator consoles or smart computer terminals and only from within the building where the computer was located. The smart terminal was a cathode-ray tube (CRT) monitor with an attached keyboard. It had limited functionality outside of being the interface to the mainframe computer and was linked by direct lines under the raised floors of the computer room. So, no working from home.

Many of today’s conveniences, especially as related to computers and online activities, did not exist in 1985. It made for a different world.

Jessie’s world.

CHAPTER ONE

February 1985 – LA Times Newspaper – Back Page Story

On February 20, 1985, a young woman was found badly beaten and in critical condition. She was located in the warehouse district early yesterday morning. She was carrying no identification and has been designated a Jane Doe. The woman is white, between 25 and 35 years old, weighs approximately 175 pounds, 5' 3" tall, with brown eyes, and straight reddish-brown hair. She has a prominent nose and distinct cheekbones. The police are requesting anyone with information about someone answering this description to please contact them.

March 1985 – Los Angeles General Hospital – 6:40 AM

Nurse Susan Collins softly closed the white door of the Jane Doe’s room with the silvered number 203. Susan’s hand was still quivering from leftover horror. It was early morning and her patient had been more restive than usual. She had had to watch helplessly as Miss Doe jerked multiple times as if being repeatedly punched. Her eerily unharmed face had exhibited fear and pain highlighted by her furrowed forehead and her mouth contorted with soundless screams. All without ever opening her eyes.

The slender nurse walked down the austere, gray-colored hallway of the hospital; her head dipped in thought. Jane Doe was in a coma-like state and had been since she was admitted into the emergency room weeks ago in critical condition, looking more dead than alive. No one could understand why she remained unconscious. Scans of her brain showed a lot of activity, which would not be if the case she was in a deep coma. And in that state, she would not be so restless. So why wasn’t she conscious yet?

Every morning when she came into work, Susan hoped to hear that the young woman had finally awakened. However, every night, Susan ended her shift and headed home knowing that Miss Doe had not yet roused from her deep sleep. It was a miracle that she was still alive. But Susan wanted more for Jane Doe. She wanted her to wake up and be fine, however unrealistic that outcome seemed right now.

As Susan walked back to the ward’s nurse station, she looked up to see Dr. Julia Mead, one of the doctors overseeing Jane Doe’s care, coming toward her. Her blonde hair in a French twist that Susan envied. Her wild curly hair wouldn’t last in such a sophisticated style.

Dr. Mead met her half-way. “Nurse Collins,” she greeted with an amicable smile. “How are you doing today?”

“Good,” Susan answered with a melancholy turn to her lips that contradicted her response. “Are you wanting to check in on Miss Doe?”

“Yes,” agreed the tall, silvery blonde. Her intelligent blue eyes looked over the slightly shorter woman. Noticing Susan’s obvious distress, she tilted her sleekly coifed head in quiet curiosity and said, “I saw you leaving her room. I can tell something is bothering you. What is wrong?”

“She was very agitated today. She would flinch as if being hit. It was like she was being tortured right before my eyes.”

Dr. Mead winced in sympathy. “Disturbing to be sure.”

“She never woke up,” said Susan, her forlorn blue eyes flickered back to the mystery woman’s room. “I kept expecting her to open her eyes and tell us what happened to her. When she didn’t… It is so sad that no one has come forward to claim her.” Realizing she was displaying far too much emotion about her patient, she tried for a more professional subject. “She was so agitated this morning that it was difficult to provide her physical therapy today.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. “I’ll go check on her now. Please come with me.”

Susan put on a less gloomy smile and said, “Of course, Doctor.” She quickly turned back the way she’d come. It broke the young nurse’s heart to see not just the visual evidence of the beating her patient survived, but to watch Miss Doe’s slowly healing body recoiling in fear from something only she could see. Something atrocious had happened to Susan’s patient, and she feared that if her patient ever awoke, the young woman’s problems would just be starting.

Dr. Mead’s examination was quick, but thorough. As her last test, she pulled up the young woman’s eyelid and waved a bright light into her blankly staring eye. There was barely a flicker of discomfort. She met the concerned eyes of Nurse Collins and shook her head. “I don’t see her waking up today. We have not been able to establish a medical cause for her deep sleep. So, she could surprise us. But her lacerations and abrasions are healing nicely, as are her more serious injuries.”

Nurse Collins nodded dejectedly. The two women tucked the covers back over their patient and left the room.

*******************

5:40 PM

In the dim light of the sinking afternoon sun, soft whimpers broke the silence, followed by the rustle of bedcovers, as a restless slight female form stirred. The sleeper’s legs pumped as if she was trying to run. In her twilight world, she’d returned to a shadowy room where evil had taken pleasure in causing her pain.

Jane Doe’s throat tightened with an unvoiced scream as despite all her attempts to evade them, the horrendous images of a past she did not want to remember, much less relive, invaded her dreams again. Her body jerked as the hazy vision of a striking hand caused her to mimic reactive movements to events she so reluctantly and so vividly remembered.

Abruptly, her dreamworld shifted. Light infused this new place, and the smell of roses filled her nose. So different from the smoky smelling, grim room of her nightmares.

“Jessie! Time to come home, Jessie,” said a smooth baritone voice that seemed familiar, and yet not. Love so permeated that voice that it pushed away the lurid scenes that pursued her.

Enticed by that soft voice, her eyes fluttered open to stare mindlessly at the ceiling, before closing again. Eyes still closed and her breath caught in limbo, the woman cringed in anticipation; certain she would soon feel the strike of a whip or a fist. Afraid to believe she was safe, the young woman’s hazel-colored eyes, hesitantly, drowsily, squinted open. When nothing awful happened, she cautiously looked around.

She breathed a sigh of relief upon not seeing a sinister dark room with layers of smoky air. Her tense shoulders relaxed as the horrific memories faded, leaving her mind blank.

She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but stopped when the movement sent excruciating, stabbing pain throughout her body. Quickly deciding that moving was a bad idea, she slumped back down. Undeniably awake now, the young woman examined the small sunlit room in which she found herself with just slight turns of her head. She examined the drab beige room with windows on one side of the square space, opposite of a door…and recoiled when she realized that she didn’t recognize anything.

Where am I? The question resonated in the unexpectedly empty corridors of her mind and she shivered.

Pushing her fears away, she investigated her location further. Sniffing, she caught the strong scent of disinfectants and thought, Okay, possibly a hospital.

When she lifted her hand to rub her parched throat, her fingers became entangled in another set of tubes. She traced those tubes to her stomach and discovered more lines connecting to her chest, which is when she finally heard the low-level constant beep…beep…beep in the background. She followed the sound to a machine placed to the left of the IV pole, and frowned in dismay. Why are they tracking my heartbeat?

She tugged the covers down and was startled when it revealed her left hand in a short cast that just reached the middle of her forearm.

She thought a bit. Maybe that was the cause of her pain when she tried to sit up before.

Deciding to try a new tactic, she awkwardly pulled her right elbow to her side and used it to shove her body upward…and thought she would die. Again, stopping all movement immediately, she flopped back down. That pain didn’t come from her wrist, that came from her back and ribs. What was wrong with them? When she moved her back muscles, she felt like a knife was stabbing into her. Her ribs seemed to be poking into places they shouldn’t and her stomach throbbed with every movement of her torso.

Dread began a cold creeping crawl up her spine, and she shivered uncontrollably. “Could somebody please tell me what happened to me?” she hissed out loud, which triggered a harsh spasm of coughing from her too dry throat.

Exhausted from her hacking, she slept. More time passed.

6:55 PM

She hesitated to try again, but a core of stubbornness wouldn’t let her quit. So, she again pushed her body upward. This time, she ignored the hot sparks of pain and did not stop. Some of the monitors beeped a little faster and she wheezed breathlessly; but she managed to reach an upright position. She smiled with grim satisfaction.

She looked around the bed for a call button or a glass of water and frowned in frustration when she found neither.

Staring out the window next to her bed into the growing darkness beyond, she absently reached up to rub her eyes, and was startled to find no bandages or tender spots. Flinching, she pressed her fingers more firmly, exploring with purpose, and was stunned to find her first impression was correct. She had no damage to her face at all.

What kind of accident causes so much body damage, but leaves my face unharmed? That thought evoked a fleeting memory of a shadowy man with a lit cigar and smoke trailing around his head. Trembling, she quickly shoved the image away.

She was beginning to feel a little panicky. Reflectively, her fingers curled around the crisp white sheets covering her. When she tried to remember anything about the time before she awoke today, a shudder shook her and her stomach churned.

Unnerved by her body’s reaction, she stopped trying to force her mind to relinquish answers. Still, there was one question that hammered at her.

What was her name?

She prodded her elusive memory again. Frightened when she still only found only blankness, her heart began pounding with apprehension and a growing, overwhelming dread. Not knowing her name rattled her more than waking up in a strange room.

Unanswerable questions swarmed her, setting off unrelenting anxiety. Which set her growing alarm into full-blown panic.

“Who am I!” She wailed, again and again. Her voice rose higher and louder, growing shriller with each anguished cry. The increasing beeps of her heart monitor escalated into a high-pitched shriek. She thrust the fingers of her right hand through her hair where they remained entangled in her badly crushed brown curls.

Suddenly, the overhead lights blinded her with their brightness. Through tears that streamed down her cheeks and clouded her vision, she saw a tall, silvery blonde woman and a somewhat overweight, shorter black man approach her bed. Both wore white lab coats over their everyday clothes. A woman, with short graying black hair, followed behind the first two, balancing a fully loaded tray.

The blonde woman reached the bed first. She grabbed the patient’s flailing arms and firmly pushed them against the mattress. Panicking, the young woman struggled to free herself. She screeched, “Who are you people and what are you doing to me?”

As she struggled to escape the woman’s hold, the man pushed down the railings; before moving in and strapping her wrists to the bedframe. Once she was secured, he gently pushed her shoulders back against the pillow. Blearily, she saw the older woman place her tray, loaded with a clutter of items, on the night table between the beds. The woman took a needle and bottle from the array of items. Both were given to the tall blonde, who prepared the proper dosage, before injecting a clear liquid into the IV tube.

The man released his hold and pulled up the bed railing on the right, while the older woman replaced the railing on the left.

As the sedative began a soothing path down her jangled nerves, the patient felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. She stared around the now bright room and into the faces of strangers.

CHAPTER TWO

The patient pushed down her returning feelings of alarm and examined the trio of invaders as her vision cleared. The man wore gray slacks and a navy-blue oxford shirt with a gray colored tie under his white coat. The tall blonde wore blue scrubs under hers. She still didn’t recognize them.

She noticed the only man in the room giving a dismissive nod to the older woman and say, “That will be all for now, Nurse Jones.”

She would have guessed the older woman was a nurse based on the light blue skirted uniform and cap she wore. The man just confirmed her conjecture. At any rate, that woman placed a cup on the side table before taking the tray and leaving the room.

The remaining woman, a slender blonde, said gently, “Hello. I'm Dr. Julia Mead.” She waved a hand at the older man beside her. He was mostly bald with only a strip of graying black hair that curved around his head from temple to temple. The overhead light glinted off the top of his head. “This is Dr. James MacGill.”

Seeing that she had calmed down, Dr. MacGill nodded a greeting as he worked to loosen the straps trapping her hands to give her enough movement to rest her hands on her chest. But apparently, not yet willing to untie her hands completely.

Lifting a cup from the side table, Dr. Mead offered it with a smile. “Here is some ice. It should help ease the dryness in your throat.”

The young woman warily took the sliver of ice. The straps made it a bit difficult to reach her mouth, but she managed. After sucking on its coolness, a smile of relief spread across her face as refreshing fluid flowed over her dry throat. “That is much better. May I have more?”

Dr. Mead nodded. “Of course. I’ll just set the cup on your chest and you can take all you need.” The doctor hesitated, a concerned frown etching furrows in her brow. “I'm sorry our arrival was so abrupt, and probably scary, but...”

“But I was screaming the house down and that isn't good for the other patients,” the young woman finished coolly, with only a hint of sarcasm in her hoarse voice. Briefly, her face screwed up into a grimace that verged on despair, before she was in control again. A determined smile curled her lips upwards. “I'm sorry. I just...” She stopped and turned away, the smile fading. Though outwardly she appeared calm, inside, she quaked with terror. She slowly put another ice sliver in her mouth. A soft sigh escaped as the ice melted and further soothed her aching throat.

“Yes, you just...what?” urged Dr. MacGill when it became apparent that she wasn't going to continue. He laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. “I think I can guess what part of your concerns are about. You were cataleptic when you were admitted into the hospital, so you don’t remember coming here. Some disorientation, even fear, is to be expected when you wake up in a strange room and amongst strangers.”

Restlessly, she tossed her head back and forth, as if to deny her words before she spoke to them, though careful not to dislodge the gentle touch on her arm. She was comforted by the kindly placed warm hand. And she desperately needed that comfort. Finally, she stopped all movement and stared stoically at the white ceiling far above her.

After a long moment, she murmured with a broken sob, “I don't know who I am.” Her voice was so faint that the two doctors had to lean closer to hear her words. She turned to face the two doctors. She cleared her throat before speaking louder, and repeating, panic creeping into her voice again. “I don't know who I am. I don't know my name. I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know what city we are in. I don’t remember anything. I don’t...” She paused and swallowed hard. “Do you know who I am?” She pleaded urgently, her eyes flicking from one doctor to the other.

“I'm sorry,” Dr. MacGill replied sadly. He studied her with a contemplative smile. After a moment, he patted her arm briefly, then moved his hand back to the top railing.

“No, we don't,” he stated firmly. Calm brown eyes counteracted the harsh planes of his dark features. Regret tinged his voice as he continued, “The police found some bearer bonds and a large sum of money in your raincoat pocket. But as bearer bonds don't have specific names on them, they were no help identifying you. There were no labels on your clothes or your raincoat, and no purse was found near you. Other than you were obviously not a victim of a mugging, we have no idea who hurt you or why.”

“Dr. MacGill and I are here to help you,” stated Dr. Mead.

Seeing concern written in the kind eyes above her, she was almost persuaded to trust them. Then her greenish hazel eyes hardened, and she turned bitter, frightened eyes from one doctor to the other. “How? Do you have a cure for memory loss?”

“No,” Dr. Mead admitted in a soft husky voice. “There is no specific cure for retrograde amnesia. The good news is that your other injuries are healing without issues.”

“Other injuries?” She hesitated. “I know my back, ribs, and stomach really hurt, especially when I move. I felt dizzy when I managed to sit up and my left wrist is in a cast. What other injuries do I have?” She looked from one doctor to the other, clearly looking for and expecting, the truth.

So, Dr. MacGill stated bluntly. “You have four broken ribs. Your left wrist was broken with damage to the surrounding ligaments. You have a major concussion. You also have a bruised kidney, a ruptured spleen, and a large assortment of deep wounds and contusions, both internal and external, to your stomach, back, and arms. Some required stitches to close.” Dr. MacGill’s voice was steady, but firm. There was no gentle way to describe this patient’s injuries without shocking the listener.

The young woman winced at the extent of her injuries. Some wounds required stitches? No wonder it hurt to move!

Dr. Mead continued, “We can’t guarantee that you will ever recover your memory loss. Based on your ability to retain new information and that we found no lesions in your brain, you appear to have a psychogenic-based amnesia. This means that you could eventually remember your personal information, over time. Though there might be some gaps.”

“You said I had a concussion?” When the doctor nodded, the young woman tipped her head down, thinking over what she’d been told. Shrewdly reading between the lines, she finally looked up again and stared steadily at the doctors and stated. “But you don't believe that is what’s causing my amnesia.”

Dr. Mead briefly exchanged startled glances with Dr. MacGill, clearly astounded by how accurately the young woman had evaluated her situation. Coming to a decision, Dr. Mead answered. “No. Your concussion is mending nicely and left no permanent physical damage. We doubt that is the cause of your amnesia. We believe it more likely your loss of memory is trauma based and likely repressed.”

Abruptly, Dr. MacGill's mellow voice barked, “What's your name?”

She answered without hesitation. “Jessie.” Then added softly, “Sort of.” She faced the plump doctor's penetratingly dark-brown eyes with a controlled calmness that was noticeably slipping. “I had a dream of someone calling that name.” She frowned down at her clenched hands. “I think it was me they were calling.” She carefully focused on relaxing her fingers out of the fists they’d formed. “Maybe it's a childhood nickname, because it doesn't feel like my real name.”

“What does your real name feel like?” inserted Dr. Mead quickly.

The woman moved her eyes from the darkness of Dr. MacGill's brown eyes to the lightness of Dr. Mead's blue eyes before squeezing closed her own. “I... don’t...know.” She admitted weakly, all her fight gone. A single tear slid down her cheek, followed rapidly by another and another. Jessie made no move to stop it or the steady flow that followed. She sought privacy by turning her head away. She murmured, “I think I've had all the answers I can take for now.”

Sensing she needed time to absorb what they had told her, Dr. Mead said, “Try and rest now, Jessie.”

Dr. McGill patted her hand. He took the now empty cup, and then the doctors quietly left the room.

No sounds escaped Jessie’s lips. She remained motionless, except for the salty stream that fell in big drops from her tightly closed eyes to her pillow. Her emotionless face hid the tormented thoughts that were churning in her mind, where one inquiry resounded repeatedly. Who am I?

Questions pounded through her whirling thoughts, repeating unceasingly. Am I Jessie? But who is that? I guess I am Jessie for now, but who was I before now? Why can’t I remember? Who did this to me and why? Why!

She began to thrash, pulling against the bindings and tossing her head from side to side trying to dislodge the unrelenting swirl of the unanswerable from her brain. Still, try as she would to escape her spinning thoughts, the inexorably blank corridors of her mind haunted her even into the slumber the sedative forced upon her.

********************

Once in the hallway, Dr. MacGill pointed to the room behind him and said to a passing nurse, “Nurse, watch over the patient in Room 203. When you are sure she is resting quietly, untie her hands.”

“Yes, Doctor,” answered the blonde nurse demurely.

“And Nurse,” he said. He hesitated and glanced at his associate, who nodded her approval. The nurse stared in puzzlement but smiled when the doctor continued with the promising information that, “We believe her first name is Jessie. Make a note of that in her records.”

“Yes, Doctor. So, she has finally come out of her coma? I am so glad!” The young woman beamed.

Dr. Mead responded with a smile. “That she has, Nurse Collins.” Dr. Mead continued, “I realize this is past the end of your shift. If you'd rather, we'll assign Nurse Jones.”

“No. That's all right. I'll do it,” Susan said happily. The sadness from earlier was replaced with a hopeful gleam.

“Thank you,” Dr. Mead smiled and turned with Dr. MacGill to continue down the hall.

********************

7:10 PM

Nurse Susan Collins sat down in a chair near Jessie's bed and stared in wonder at the mystery patient. Her strange connection to the young woman began when she was transferred from the ER to Susan’s ward. Like they could be friends, odd though that sounded.

Now that Jessie had finally awakened, Susan looked forward to talking to her. Susan’s hopes for her patient had been realized. Except for one puzzlingly piece, why did the doctors only provide her first name to be changed in the records?

While she waited for the young woman to settle into a deeper sleep, the nurse again wondered, why someone had brutally and viciously beaten her. Jessie was found in such horrendous shape that the doctors were amazed she had survived her injuries. And why was her face left untouched? Everyone agreed that the lack of any bruises on her face was very unnerving.

None of the tests the doctors ran on Jessie showed any physical reason to explain why she had remained in a coma-like state. It was as if she had retreated from the world and was reluctant to return. As the days turned into weeks, only Dr. Mead and Dr. MacGill continued to have confidence that the mystery patient would recover. Days would go by without any movement on her part, and then suddenly she would toss and turn as if trying to escape some danger only she could see. Like she had earlier today.

Nurse Collins studied the sleeping face of the enigma who was her patient. She wished she could discuss Jessie’s case with AJ. Seeing Jessie in this condition made her uneasy and her big brother always made her feel safe. There was something about Jessie’s elegant features that spoke of a gentle person, making Jessie’s injuries all the more frightening for Susan.

Jessie continued to toss her head back and forth, her legs thrashing under the covers. Although her tears had finally ceased, they left a poignant, thin trail of salt on her pale cheeks. Jessie stirred yet again to pull at her restraints, still trying to escape unknown dangers. Watching her patient’s restless sleep despite the sedative Susan knew was administered, she frowned in concern.

Instinctively responding to someone in need, Susan reached through the bed railings to firmly grip the twitching hands and began saying over and over in her softest voice, “It's all right, Jessie. You're safe now. It's all right.”

She reached out her foot to pull the room’s guest chair closer so she could sit down. She leaned her weary head against the bed railing while her thumbs slowly stroked the slender hand she held and her gentle voice uttered words of comfort.

Putting her hair into a tight coil, might keep it neat longer and hold her cap better, Susan reflected after a while, but after a long day on the ward, the style also gave her a headache. Still, she remained seated, calmly murmuring reassurances, hoping to ease Jessie’s mind.

7:40 PM

Finally, Jessie’s taut form relaxed. Susan watched Jessie fall into a seemingly restful slumber with a sigh of relief.

8:00 PM

Certain Jessie would remain asleep, Susan untied the restraints. She slowly stood up and stretched before walking over to the door. She pulled it open but hesitated in the entryway to take one last look at her patient. Once she confirmed that Jessie had not stirred, remaining boneless and deeply asleep, she beamed happily and quietly closed the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Jessie awoke early the next morning, but long after sunrise. It was a bright sunny day without a cloud in the azure-colored sky. A day to smile about, but Jessie remained subdued. To anyone watching her, she appeared serene, accepting her situation calmly. But as the saying goes, appearances can be deceiving. There was an eerie deadness in the gleaming depths of her hazel eyes that those who knew her well would have recognized as deep sadness. It was to take her new friends much longer to realize that Jessie was being far too quiet.

Jessie stared out her window without registering what she saw until a welcome object caught her attention. It was the branch of a large live oak tree just barely within her view. She stared delightedly at the beautiful old tree; her problems forgotten for the moment. Her tension eased as she watched the new leaves ripple in the gentle morning breeze.

Then last night's events flooded back to her. She checked her hands, surprised to see them free. Hadn't the doctors tied them to her bedframe? No, she recalled suddenly. Someone came in and sat with me. That nice person must have freed my wrists before leaving. Good. She wanted to get closer to that tree. Something in her knew that being near trees always made her feel better.

She hesitated at that thought. Now how can I know how comforting trees are to me and yet not be able to remember my name? This conundrum made her uncomfortable, so she let the matter drop.

Jessie carefully studied the railing to her right. She found it hard to concentrate, but she stared determinedly around the railing until she figured out how it worked. Then she slowly pushed it down one-handedly, remembering not to use her left wrist. She was surprised when the action caused her back and arms to throb. As she pushed, her right arm extended beyond her hospital gown's elbow length sleeves, and she caught a glimpse of purple and yellow bruises on her arm and above the cast on her left wrist. Well, she thought dolefully, that explains the twinges of pain I feel whenever I move my arms.

The ache reminded her about something else the doctors had told her. Something about broken ribs, other internal injuries, and contusions. She closely examined her arms. She carefully twisting around to try and see as much of her back as she could. On her shoulders, she found more of those bruises they'd mentioned, as well as the tips of some deep lacerations.

Damn! What happened to put that many bruises on me and how did I get the gashes? Had she been in a car accident and gone through the windshield? No, that doesn't fit, she realized, dipping her head in thought. I don't have any facial cuts. Maybe she wasn’t facing the windshield when she went through it? She crinkled her nose. That doesn’t seem likely.

Come to think of it, the doctors had not specifically said what caused her injuries. She slowly shoved her covers down and pulled her hospital blue-dotted white gown up over her stomach. There, just as she had suspected, were more signs of healing bruises and ugly deep slashes on her legs. On her stomach was what looked to be a still-healing surgical scar. Across from the scar was a catheter attached to a plastic bag. Hopefully, now that she was conscious again, that would be removed.

From a constant, dull, stinging ache radiating from her back and around to her ribs, she knew she'd been hurt there too, and badly. No wonder she was in the hospital! All things considered, maybe it was a good thing that she didn’t remember how she became so injured.

She gave her head a hard shake, which made her dizzy. Okay, shaking my head, bad. Do not do that again anytime soon, she decreed. However, she couldn't seem to stop her numerous questions from clogging up her brain. In an unending cycle, she continued to puzzle over how she had gotten hurt so badly. She focused her eyes on the friendly tree and tried to remember…anything. Still, nothing.

Frustrated, she pushed the call button lying on the pillow next to her head. She wanted, no... needed answers!

********************

When the desk nurse saw who was calling, she summoned Dr. Mead as she had been ordered. Dr. Mead was nearby with another patient, but she did not keep Jessie waiting long. When the doctor in blue scrubs and a white lab coat quietly entered the room with a uniformed nurse in attendance, Jessie was facing the window. However, she turned to the door as soon as her quick ears heard the soft padding of rubber soled shoes enter her room. Jessie's face brightened when she saw the tall doctor.

“Doctor! Just the person that I wanted to see.” She hesitated before admitting sheepishly, “I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name.”

Dr. Mead smiled reassuringly. “That's all right. You were barely awake and badly frightened. This can hardly be where you expected to wake up.”

“True,” agreed Jessie noncommittally, her face unreadable.

“Jessie. There is no reason to be discouraged. You remembered that I was a doctor. This shows that your short-term memory is working.”

Jessie nodded with a little more enthusiasm and a small grin peeked out briefly, displaying straight white teeth.

The doctor continued, “Yes, well...I am Dr. Julia Mead. You're in Los Angeles, California, in L.A. General Hospital.” She turned and motioned with a flip of her hand toward the slender, blonde nurse standing quietly behind her. “This is one of your day nurses, Susan Collins.”

“Hello, Jessie,” said Susan with a kind smile.

Upon hearing that calm voice, a warm smile curled Jessie’s mouth. “You were the one who came in after the doctors left. Thank you,” stated Jessie appreciatively. “Your company helped me to go to sleep.”

Susan blushed at the surprised look the doctor threw her way. “You're welcome, but how did you know? You were barely conscious.”

A puzzled expression crossed Jessie's face. Finally, she shrugged and replied. “I recognized your voice.” Turning back to Dr. Mead, she asked the question that had been burning in her mind. “Dr. Mead, this amnesia...” She hesitated.

“Yes,” the doctor encouraged with a gentle smile.

“Is it due to some accident I was in? I mean, I'm all bruised and achy and I look like I was beaten up, but a car accident could produce the same kind of damage. Right? It has been bugging me that I don’t know how I was hurt.”

Dr. Mead was slow to respond. It was apparent that she was uncertain how Jessie would react to what she had to say. She took a deep breath before speaking. “You weren't in an accident,” she told Jessie bluntly. “You were found left for dead on a street near some old rarely used warehouses and a seedy bar. You were beaten and, we believe, tortured until you were close to death. Police concluded that you were not the victim of a robbery because the only items found on you were a considerable amount of money and bearer bonds tucked in a pocket of the raincoat you were wearing. No purse or any identification was found. However, there is no doubt in my mind or my associate's, Dr. MacGill, that you were brutally assaulted by person or persons unknown in a manner consistent with torture.”

Jessie's head dropped forward like a wilted flower. Torture! Was the reason she couldn’t remember anything because of a traumatic experience? Had she instinctively repressed that memory along with every other piece of her past? Her mind spun with conflicting thoughts. She shuddered. Was she certain she wanted to remember?

She answered that absurd question swiftly...Yes. Hell, yes! She could not stand the staggering emptiness of not knowing who she was.

“Do you know if I'll ever regain my memory?” Jessie murmured; her eyes dropped to examine the white covers of her bed with careful intensity, her fingers clenching the crisp cotton sheets tightly. She held back hysteria by concentrating on what she wanted to ask next. She would keep the inquiries going until she had answers that led her home.

“There is no way to be sure. Medical science is still not certain how dissociative amnesia is caused, much less how it is cured. We don't even all agree that the condition of complete memory loss even exists. The physical damage to your brain caused by your concussion is already healing and left no discernable damage. We can only speculate that since you remember some things, such as your nickname is Jessie and the events of last night, that there was no long-term damage, and your memory should eventually return. It is possible, that some event, smell, or familiar sight will trigger flashbacks. Hopefully, those flashes will help you recall pieces of your past, like a puzzle, until it all comes back.”

“But you're not sure,” Jessie looked up to state curtly. She didn’t wait for the doctor to respond before asking, “So, you don't know why I was in Los Angeles, or even if I'm from here?”

“No. Though, the police detectives who were here when you were first admitted speculated that it is unlikely that you live here. They believed that you are a visitor who was vacationing in or near the city, or possibly that you were passing through on route to maybe Hawaii, connecting to a plane or cruise ship.”

Jessie returned her gaze to her bedcovers. Suddenly, her head reared up, her hazel eyes hardened with determination. She captured the doctor's gaze with an unexpected intensity.

“Earlier, you said something about not knowing why I had been beaten. What did you mean?” For the first time, her new acquaintances got a taste of the steel behind the fragile front. “You said I wasn't robbed. Was I raped?”

“N-no,” responded Dr. Mead. startled. She was alarmed by the indifference in Jessie's voice, until she realized Jessie was distancing herself in expectation of an abhorrent answer. She repeated, firmly, “No.” She stepped closer and closed her hand over Jessie’s fisted knuckles. She squeezed the slender fingers comfortingly until they relaxed before moving back. Still concerned, she asked, “How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?”

Instinctively, Jessie turned towards the ancient tree, her source of strength. A harsh crack of laughter escaped her, startling them all. She turned to face the other two women. “I am having a hard time knowing how to feel. But, having no idea how I ended up here is unnerving.” She thought a moment, all expression drained from her finely structured features. She continued pensively. “Mostly, I feel okay. Calmer, or at least, I’m getting there.” She chuckled, but this time, strangely enough, her mirth held amusement.

Shaken by the intensity of the conversation, Dr. Mead felt as if she had been running hard and needed more air. She took a deep breath and then slowly released it. Her composure restored, she stated lightly. “It is good that you feel calmer. Your reaction to what we do know of your injuries shows that you are a strong person who deals with difficulties, rather than ignore them. This strength will help you through the tough times ahead of you. Your response also tells us a few more things about you.”

Jessie raised a questioning eyebrow and tilted her head. She glanced over and noticed that Susan looked puzzled, too.

“Your appearance is deceiving. Hidden behind your air of delicacy, there is incredible strength and resiliency. From the way you phrase your sentences, it appears that you have more than a high school education, most likely you’ve attended or completed college. If not formal education, you are well read.” Dr. Mead suddenly shook her head in frustration. “It is so inconceivable to me that you could be here for over two weeks and have no one come looking for you! Surely by now you've been missed.”

“Who am I?” Jessie asked, thoughtfully. She ignored the disquieting idea of not being missed. “Why would anyone want to hurt me?” She stared at her lightly tanned crossed hands, lying quietly on her lap above the white bedcovers, before looking out at the tree and answering her own question. “Good questions, all of them, but who knows where the answers are?” She hesitated before continuing in an absentminded whisper. “Who am I? Little Bo Peep? Only it's my memory I've lost, not my sheep.” A wry smile curved her lips briefly, before she continued softly. “Who I am is a question that is becoming more and more in need of an answer.” In a louder voice, she added, “I need to find the answer to that question before the answer comes looking for me and finishes the job.”

“Job?” murmured Susan in confusion.

Jessie looked into Susan's gentle blue eyes, and then into Julie Mead's bright blue eyes before clarifying. “The reason to harm me could still exist. I may have to leave this hospital, sooner rather than later. I can’t take the risk that whoever tortured me won't come back. That possibility makes me a dangerous person to be around for you, the hospital staff, and your other patients.”

“That's just ridiculous!” protested the kindhearted Susan.

“Is it?” questioned the wiser Dr. Julia. “I wonder.” Giving her head a rough shake, she added in a more professional manner. “In the meantime, you are still my patient and you have just come out of a coma. You are weak from the long time in bed and are still healing from your injuries. A ruptured spleen is not an injury to gloss over. You were lucky that we were able to repair it and didn’t have to remove it. Not to mention your broken ribs and wrist. We'll worry about the other problem later. I think we can remove the leads to the electrocardiographic heart monitor.”

Nodding, Nurse Collins moved up and started removing them from Jessie’s chest.

Dr. Mead looked thoughtfully at the enteral tube. “You aren’t going to be very hungry right away, so for now, the enteral tube will remain until we are certain you have adjusted to solid food.” The doctor faced the slightly smaller woman to state briskly, "Nurse Collins, order Jessie a light meal. We’ll try one scrambled egg, Jell-O, and tea.” She pointed to Jessie. “And then you will rest some more. No arguments!”

Jessie shrugged and said calmly, “You're the doctor here.” She added with greater intensity. “Just get me well quickly.”

“That is our goal. However, getting you well does include recovery of your memory.”

“First things first,” replied Jessie with some bitterness. “Let's get the easy part done first. I don’t think my memory is going to be coming back any time soon. We need to focus on getting my body healed and getting my strength back.”

Julie Mead nodded. “Agreed.” She turned and left the room with Susan, leaving Jessie alone with her grim thoughts.

The doctor had given her much to think about.