Amnesia (30 page)

“Well, the obvious answer would be your father, but I’m not sure how it all fits together. Well, I need to go home and rest a bit. Those painkillers are kicking in and I want to be able to drive. Beverley, why don’t I take you home, back to your dad and mom? They’ve been through a lot as well, and with Scardoni out of the way, it should be safe now. I’ll drive you.”

“It would be nice to sleep in my own bed,” she sighed. “Can you give me a couple of minutes with Peter?”

“Sure, I’ll be out front next to the revolving doors. I’m driving Nancy’s minivan while she’s at work. Carrie, why don’t you walk me down?”

“Sure thing Jack,” Carrie agreed turning back to the other couple. “Now remember, if you need us Lissa and I are still staying with Jack and Nancy, as the good officer here suggested yesterday. Good thing too, with all that’s happened. See you later Peter. Get some rest, and feel better!”

“I will. Thanks for everything. Take care of the others for me,” he sent as a parting shot, as the two left the couple alone. “Now what’s on your mind, Miss Windham?”

“This,” she said as she leaned down and gently kissed the man she so loved. He eagerly returned the gesture, wishing that he were able to take her in his arms and hold her. Unfortunately his broken ribs were still too tender for much cuddling. As an afterthought he realized that might be good thing, seeing how excited he got when they were together.

“Wow!” he exclaimed when she stood back, breaking off the embrace. “Could you bottle some of that up and add it to the IV? I would like a constant influx of you!”

She smiled at his comment, thinking she wouldn’t mind having the same thing. “I love you, Peter.”

“I hope so,” he joked, “I wouldn’t want you going around kissing just anyone like that.”

To his delight she laughed that gentle lilting laugh that had sent him into acrobatics the day they had met. He agreed that he would gladly go through everything again to know that she did indeed love him, just as he had fallen in love with her that first day.

“Peter, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. I think you know that I have always been drawn to the spirit that I see in you. I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days, and I realize now that I’m ready to really learn about the church. I know I’ve taken the discussions, and I’ve even read parts of the Book of Mormon, but I want to really understand now.”

“Of course,” he responded excitedly. “Pull up a chair. We can talk all you like.”

“Actually, I wanted to wait until you are out of here. And, uh, there’s one other thing. I would prefer to talk to the others first, rather than you.”

She watched his face fall, as she
knew
it would. She suspected this would be a great disappointment to him, and was prepared, although it pained her to see the look.

“You see, I want to make sure I do this for the right reason, rather than just because I love you. That won’t change no matter what,” she quickly added, “but I don’t want to mix up my feelings for the church and Jesus with my feelings for you. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I can’t believe how lucky I am to just know you and love you, let alone you caring about me.”

She smiled widely. “Well I do and there’s nothing you can do about it!” She bent and kissed him again, eliciting the same reaction as she did the first time, in both of them.

“Is there anything else you need before I go home?” she asked, a bit breathless from the excitement.

“Actually, yes, would you mind getting me some more water? I’m still so thirsty from everything.”

“Of course,” she said bouncily, grabbing his water bottle, and knocking a piece of paper onto the floor. She bent to pick it up, and noticed it was a check.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing!” he cried, realizing the implication. “Just give it to me.”

Startled, and somewhat worried by his reaction, she looked at the check, then back up at him. A cold look crossed her visage and anger flashed into her eyes as understanding dawned.

“I take it my mother came to visit
?” she asked icily.

“
Well, yeah
, but
I didn’t
….”

“It’s okay, I understand,” she interrupted. “
Peter, you know how much I love you, but right now I need to have a little chat with my mother
.”

“Beverley….”

“No, Peter, don’t say anything. I have to go.
We’ll talk later.
”

He could see the tears already starting down her cheeks as she
spun and
left the room, ignoring his pleading.

“Good-bye, Beverley. I love you.”

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

Marcuse sat seething in his spacious library, cursing the elements that conspired against him. He drummed a pencil on the massive oak desk before him, then broke it in two and threw it across the room where the pieces clattered noisily on the hardwood floor.

He stood up abruptly, toppling the leather desk chair he had recently occupied, and paced around the room, trying in vain to control his anger. He completed a circuit around the room before the rage drove him into physical activity. He went to the pristine books and began ripping them out of the shelves, hurling them across the vast room, allowing the emotion to lend strength to his throws. Volume after volume launched into the air, soaring across the expanse, to land in an unceremonious heap on the other side of the room.

Finally, the emotional energy spent, he walked back to the desk, righted the overturned chair, and sat staring into space, his breath coming raggedly from the effort. Now perhaps he could calm himself enough to figure out what to do.

His new plans had come so close to fruition, but now all was lost. He could no longer blame Scardoni for his plight, but knew he must find a scapegoat, else he entertain the thoughts that he might have miscalculated, and that he could not do. It had all been so close!

He knew that the time for recrimination was past, yet he couldn’t help but yearn for the revenge that was due him. He fumed over his carefully laid plans, now lying smoldering at his feet. He couldn’t believe that just as he was getting Lissa Brandon in place, practically the exact moment she was ready to slide into the position he desired, she had been ripped out, and completely lost. The thoughts of seeing Drake snatch her from his jaws made his blood boil anew.

Drake. It all started, and now seems to end, with Drake. He still vividly recalled the moment Drake had waked into his life, an interloper determined to harass and disrupt where he did not belong.

Marcuse had been working on his literary masterpiece, destined to rival the inspired Mein Kampf by his childhood hero Adolf Hitler. All truly inspired leaders recorded the genius in their plans, and his manuscript was superb. Then Drake had to stumble across it and threaten him with it. Oh he hated that man! If only he had stayed dead, as Scardoni had assured he was. Yet here he was, acting the unwitting accomplice again in muddling his carefully laid plans. It was almost as if he were intentionally getting in the way.

Marcuse stopped short with that thought echoing in his head, as if suddenly finding a crucial piece to a puzzle. He thought back to his initial meeting with Drake, and how Drake had been there throughout the gambit.

First, Drake had appeared from nowhere, claiming some ridiculous story, which couldn’t possibly have been correct. The timing was too incredibly perfect for it to have been a chance. No, he must have known something was happening and chosen the time carefully to spring on him.

Then there was “finding” the beloved manuscript, which had been carefully concealed from “accidental” discovery. Again, it was too coincidental, and one thing Marcuse did not believe in was coincidence.

He must have also caused the plane crash, since he survived and no one else had. Except for Marconi, of course. They must have been in it together, the injuries accidental, their own plans thwarted by the Neanderthals Scardoni had hired.

Finally, he showed up to whisk Brandon away at the exact moment that she was ready to be put into her place. He must have been watching, ready to pluck her from his grasp at just the wrong moment.

He mustn’t forget that he also had that Windham girl in tow when he swept in, so he must have had a hand in that as well. There was no way those two kids could have gotten away from Scardoni without help, and it must have been Drake that aided them. Always and forever that man was in his way. He must be working for someone.

Marcuse pondered that thought, wondering who could have known what he was planning. FBI? NSA? Police? Perhaps some outside forces? None of those made sense, but there was no way some bumbling fool like Drake could continue to stumble across everything innocently. Someone had to be directing him. He just didn’t know whom yet. Somehow he’d find out, and make them pay.

In the end it wouldn’t make much difference anyway. His plans would not be stopped by Drake or anyone else. Yes, they had foiled him in Boise, but there were many more places to enact his wiles. He would still succeed in these honorable and ordained desires. This was simply a road bump along the way.

But first he must rid himself of Drake, and that evil woman that had attached herself to him, Lissa Brandon. He would make them pay. In the end they will be pleading for him to save them. In turn he would laugh in their faces, and destroy them both once and for all.

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

Lissa picked the hot pizza up directly from the pan sitting on the table in front of her, leaving a connecting string of melted cheese in its wake. She leaned over her plate to catch the cheese in her teeth along with a bite of the delectable fare.

It was still so hot that it burned the inside of her mouth, so she drew in her breath over the heated food while waving ineffectually at her mouth in a vain attempt to cool it down. Finally the temperature had moderated to the point she could chew it up and swallow it, and she quickly grabbed her water and took a big gulp to douse the fire raging from the burning cheese. She glanced over the table and immediately flushed at the laughing man sitting across from her.

“By the way, it’s hot,” he chuckled, retrieving the blood glucose monitor from his ever-present diabetes kit to check his sugar levels, the unwanted ritual every diabetic must perform before every meal. He followed the blood test by drawing two units of insulin, the calculated amount to offset the pizza intake without sending him into a diabetic coma.

He looked back up at Lissa, smiling at seeing her so alive. He had watched her a great deal yesterday and this morning, and had thrilled with the metamorphosis in her. She had changed from a frightened child into a fun-loving woman in those short hours, partly due to the break from the terror, and partly, he hoped, due to him.

They had quickly discovered that the suspension from her work was like a mini-vacation, enabling them to get to know each other the best they could under the circumstances. They had both found a happiness they had previously only imagined. As long as they were together, they felt they could do anything.

“So how are things going?” Lissa asked tentatively, not wanting to break the spell.

“Things?”

“You know, your memories. What have you been able to remember?”

Robbie sat back from the steaming pie and sighed. This was still a rather raw subject, but he didn’t really mind. He grabbed his glass of water and took a long sip, deciding where to start.

“Well, I grew up in a small section of San Diego called Chula Vista. It was the four of us, Mom, Grandma and Grandpa—Mom’s mom and dad. We lived in a lower middle class neighborhood, surrounded by mostly Hispanics. I think I used to speak Spanish, but I don’t think I’ve spoken it in a long time. Our house was an older home, but we kept it neat and clean. I know it was filled with love for each other, and for the Lord. Everywhere you looked there was some picture, painting, or something reminding us of gospel principles.

“My grandpa used to take us up to this cabin in Julian, about an hour and a half away. Some of my earliest memories are of him and me gliding across the lake in an old fishing boat, our lines dangling in the water. I don’t know if we ever caught anything, but for me the fishing was never about catching, it was about being with Grandpa. It was from him that I learned to love fishing and the outdoors. Even now I can remember the smell of the lake and the pine smoke that was always there.”

“I love camping,” Lissa chimed in.
“
We didn’t do it much when I was growing up, but when I was doing my undergrad at the University of Utah my family home evening group used to go out all the time. There’s nothing like sitting under a canopy of trees, listening to birdsong and the rush of wind to settle your brain. And remind you that you are only a tiny speck in the scheme of things. Actually, it was at one of these campouts that I really got my testimony. But that’s a different story. What else have you learned?”