Hadrian's Wall (2 page)

When I regained consciousness, I realized
that my surroundings had completely changed. Instead of the dark
woods, I saw white walls and a strong light streaming through
partially open blinds, converging on a wide corridor. I was lying
on a bed, protected from the cold by a thick woolen blanket.

Somebody else was there in the shadows... a
man, but I couldn’t clearly see his face. Whether he was young or
old, it was difficult to know. Straining my eyes, I noticed he was
wearing a lab coat. He sat close to the bed rail, examining a
document on his clipboard. On the opposite side of my bed was a
monitor displaying some kind of graphic on the screen, constantly
emitting monotonous beeps.

I craned my neck, attempting to see him, but
when I tried move, my numb arms protested. My whole body felt
tense. Some twinges alerted me to something around my finger and
something else I had noticed before—a needle inserted under the
skin of my wrist, connected to an intravenous tube and plastic bag
filled with colorless liquid that hung from a metal stand.

My movement got his
attention. He raised his head, then got up from his chair and stood
near my headboard. The light from the hallway enabled me to see
him. I
could see that he was young and
very good-looking! His smooth hairstyle looked like little fish
scales ador
ning a breathtakingly handsome
face. He reminded me of Greek and Roman sculptures I had seen. Is
he a doctor? He looks more like a young warrior.

His eyeglasses had broad black stems with a
rectangular wine-colored detail on the hinges. The elegant glasses
and the asymmetrical cut of his hairline gave him a serious, yet
modern look, perfectly framing his face and softening the primitive
vibration that radiated from him.

The photochromic lenses partially hid his
eyes so that I couldn’t see their color. I guessed they were blue,
but I was able see the glow that emanated from them. His were the
eyes of a man who had authority—a shrewd, experienced man with
mysterious eyes that seemed to peer inside me. I had a vague
feeling that I knew him from somewhere, though in fact I had never
seen him before—of that I am sure because he had a face too
remarkable to be forgotten.

“Who are you?” My whispered words scratched
my parched throat.

Saying nothing, he pulled away.

Wow! Though slim, he had the body of an
athlete—broad shoulders and narrow hips. He appeared to be quite
tall. From my prone position, my angle of vision made it impossible
to venture a guess, but I concluded that he was about 6-foot
3-inches.

He picked up the water jug sitting on the
bedside table and slowly filled one of the cups. He seemed
completely oblivious to my inspection, but when he turned to offer
me the water, seeing his face made me realize that maybe he was
more aware of it than I thought.

Suddenly nervous, I choked. Damn! I was
certain that my face had turned bright red. Surely he must have
realized the effect he had on me—a blushing girl whose only real
experience with a male had been a few kisses exchanged behind the
school gymnasium. Even then I thought that it wasn’t much, but I
was a silly teenager, who had no basis for comparison.

Much of my education had come from watching
television, but I knew perfectly well that no movie could help me
understand what I was now feeling. The strength that radiated from
him, the impact of his gaze simultaneously intimidated and
attracted me. I was confused. I felt an irrational need to be
cuddled and comforted by this stranger, as if only he had power to
soothe me, while at the same time I wanted to run away!

To my surprise and horror, he
unceremoniously put his arm behind my head and then suggestively
placed the cup in front of my lips. Oh my...for one crazy moment, I
thought he knew what was going on in my head. He looked slightly
amused as he waited for me to take a sip of water. Mmmm...maybe he
knows!

I realized how thirsty I was, so even though
I felt flustered by the nearness of him, I greedily drank the water
he offered to me.

“Slow down.” His voice was deep, slightly
hoarse, and gave me goose bumps. Oh God, I’m going to choke
again.

After relieving my thirst, my voice was more
steady. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He smiled a dazzling smile—one capable of
stopping a herd of stampeding rhinos. At that moment, I felt like a
rhino. Only after returning the cup to the bedside table, did he
finally speak.

“I didn’t? I’m Adrian. I’m on duty this
week. I’m here to take care of you, Melissa.” His comment sparked
my need to clarify my situation.

“Where I am? How did I get here? What
happened?”

Adrian gently pressed me back against my
pillow and stepped around to check the IV apparatus.

“Be quiet,” he said, holding the small clamp
that regulated the fluid’s passage through the tubing and into my
vein. Only then did I notice he was wearing surgical gloves. “It’s
not good for you to be nervous. You don’t remember what happened?”
His tone seemed somewhat speculative.

I felt a weakness creeping over me and my
head started to spin. “I can’t...I can’t remember anything since I
left the orphanage.”

“Orphanage? Well, you’ll have plenty of time
to remember when you are fully recovered. You had early pneumonia,
two broken ribs, and had suffered a concussion, as well as a few
bruises on your face and your body, but they will disappear
soon.”

Automatically, I lifted my free hand and
touched a small bandage covering part of my forehead. I opened and
shut my mouth, yearning to ask for more information, but vertigo
overcame me. I felt myself slipping back into unconsciousness
wondering, What did they put in that serum? I was aware that I
needed to confront him, but I couldn’t seem to organize my
thoughts.

“How do you know my name?”

He gave a soft, throaty chuckle that seemed
to say much without clarifying anything! I shuddered as if that
sound had permeated every nerve ending in my body. Is it possible
to feel caressed by a voice?

“You had identification documents with you
when they found you, Melissa Baker. Now, you need to rest.”

I vaguely thought about hospital bills. “I
have no money...” I protested weakly. My face fell against the
pillow as I succumbed to the sedative.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

I sighed. So full of authority, his voice
made me feel safe. I blacked out again.

* * *

My memories of weeks or months prior to my
admission to Caledonia General Hospital seemed lost in a deep, dark
pit. According to the nurses, I was in a town called Hadrian’s
Wall, somewhere in Maine.

How did I get here?

All I remember of my dull existence happened
in New Hampshire, more precisely a small town called Dailey’s
Crossing, located on the route between Berlin and Groveton. I felt
like I had fallen asleep in one place and awakened a day later in
another place. Although it seemed like it had been only 24 hours,
it could have been much more.

This mysterious lapse in time began to
command the moods that struck me in those early days. I knew, of
course, that there was no point kicking myself for my failure to
remember or allow myself to panic. There was no one I could blame.
My mind would provide answers that I desperately needed, so I
stayed adrift.

Adrian did not come back and nobody knew to
tell me about him. Rather, I was almost sure that they did not want
to let me know about him. There was a difference between “to know”
and “to want” and while I felt reluctance from some of the people,
I decided not to push it. But he’d said that he was taking care of
me, so to someone lost and confused like me, his disappearance
seemed like a broken promise—another disappointment. Whether big or
small, it was nonetheless one more for my “collection.”

The residents took turns during the week;
however, the doctor in charge of my case was the head of the
Neurology Department—Dr. Talbot. He introduced himself in the
morning of the day after Adrian’s visit, which made me suspicious.
He didn’t seem worried about my amnesia. When I asked questions, he
always managed to find a way to evade them. He said my memory would
return naturally and that trying to stimulate it would not bring
back the information because it might create false memories from
information provided by other people. He told me that it wasn’t
good for me to try to satisfy my curiosity so fast.

Despite his cold and impersonal manner, he
seemed to be a caring doctor, so I decided to heed his advice and
let it ride for now, but my anxiety was increasing. I slept poorly
as old nightmares, my sad childhood companions, began to afflict me
again.

One night a nurse heard me screaming and
shook me awake. The flapping wings from the dark creature I’d seen
in my dream still echoed in my ears the next morning. Thereafter, a
succession of bad dreams made me wake up several times during the
night, leaving me with a feeling of imminent danger. I didn’t want
to talk about my nightmares with anyone. I preferred to keep them a
secret because they’d caused trouble for me during my childhood and
adolescence.

Since that time, I learned not to trust
doctors. They always seemed so calm, so controlled, but behind that
façade of serenity, they define us like laser-cut stones and with
their verdicts they commit “social homicide” on those of us they
judge. I had allowed myself to trust one. I opened my mind to him,
yet he betrayed me. If he had not taken advantage of my childlike
innocence and branded me with a stereotype, I would not have
suffered as much as I did at the hands of those around me.

Of course, because the frequency of my
nightmares was increasing, the nurse reported the situation to Dr.
Talbot. He decided that I should undergo a battery of tests, which
found no organic reason for what I was experiencing. That came as
no surprise to me because I’d been through it all when I was a
young child. I thought about explaining that to the neurologist,
but then abandoned the idea.

Since my father’s death, I had been having
nightmares that for short periods of time would disappear without
explanation, but generally returned when I experienced intense
stress as vivid as if I were watching a 3D movie. In Hadrian’s
Wall, all the dreams I had were much more elaborate and replete
with enigmatic figures, making it much more difficult to separate
delirium from reality, even when I was awake. However, the recent
dreams didn’t vary much from those of my childhood. It was weird
because in most of them I saw myself in the same place—on a stone
staircase surrounded with flowers and lush plants.

The dream always started at the point where
I was descending the stone staircase that led to a spacious terrace
overlooking the woods. Off in the distance I spied a grayish-brown
band bordering the horizon. It appeared to be some kind of wall,
with watchtowers symmetrically placed at regular intervals.
Interposed between me and the terrace was a full-size statue of a
woman. In her hand, she holds a small object on which a strange
symbol is subscribed. Is it some kind of warning?

Next to a stone altar there stands a very
tall man, lean and strong, waiting for me, extending his hand to
me. He wears a white tunic and a red cloak casually thrown over his
shoulder in the traditional Roman style. How I knew it was Roman
style, I have no idea. I could see his tanned skin, like that of
someone who passed his days outdoors or at the seashore. I could
not see his face because it was obscured by the shadows of trees
canopied above the altar. Why did he seem so familiar to me?
Inexplicably, I missed him.

I had this dream repeatedly. Upon waking,
sadness would sweep over me. I began to count the hours until night
came so that I might find the unknown man of my dreams. When the
dreams stopped, I became depressed. With some trepidation, I
decided tell to Dr. Talbot about my feelings. He said that my state
of mind reflected an emotional reaction to the danger having
passed. According to him, my mind had deleted the consciousness of
the original traumatic event; however, he contends that it remains
filed away in my memory, waiting to be brought to the forefront
through symbolic distortions. This is all Greek to me. I nodded,
pretending to understand.

Meanwhile, my nights were getting worse.
Maybe Dr. Talbot would understand that it was a sign that my memory
had a lot to reveal according to his physician’s logic. The strange
figures that populate my dreams aroused horror in me, except for
him—the stranger whose face I could not see. At least he gave me a
good feeling, a sensation of security, even affection; but the
other creatures I dreamed about...

God forgive me!

* * *

A strange girl once came into the scene that
my mind had created. She was beautiful, small and delicate;
however, her beauty seemed not to be of this world. Her blazing
eyes were black as tar. Her long auburn hair fluttered around a
child’s face, forming a frame that emphasized her translucent skin.
She was so like the statue of another dream, only she was
alive!

There was something dangerous about her—like
the way her lips opened to show her very white teeth. I sensed that
the fantastic creature would make me very ill before she bent over
and gracefully jumped over me. I always ran, stumbling...though
deep down I knew there was no chance to escape. As usual, I awoke
bathed in sweat and breathing hard, but I barely had time to
recover. A movement in the shadows scared me so much that I lost
what little breath I still had in my lungs.

The girl came from nowhere! She stood as
still at my bedside as the statue of my dream, but there was no
physical resemblance between them. Although she was as beautiful as
the other, she could not be considered delicate, much less small.
Her hair was black and she had oriental-looking eyes.