White Lies (7 page)

           
 
"I'm back," she murmured, touching
his arm. "You can go to sleep now. Don't worry, don't fight the
pain...just let it go. I'm here with you, and I won't leave. I'll watch over
you, and I'll be here when you wake up again." Slowly his breathing
settled into an easier rhythm and his pulse rate dropped. His blood pressure
lowered. Air hissed from the tube in his throat in what would have been a faint
sigh had the tube not been in place. Jay stood by his bed, her fingers lightly
stroking his arm as he slept.

           
 
Where
are you?
 
He came awake, screaming
silently as he clawed his way through the shrouding darkness and pain into an
even greater horror. The pain was like being eaten alive, but he could bear
that because despite its force, it was secondary to the horrible emptiness.
God, was he buried alive? He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't make a
sound, as if his body had died but his mind had remained alive. Terrified, he
tried again to scream and couldn't.
Where
was he? What had happened?

           
 
He didn't know. God help him, he didn't know!

           
 
"I'm here," the voice crooned
soothingly. "I know you're frightened and don't understand, but I'm here.
I'll stay with you."

           
 
The voice. It was familiar. It had been in his
dreams. No, not dreams. Something deeper than that. It was in his guts, his
bones, his cells, his genes, his chromosomes. It was part of him, and he
focused on it with an intense, almost painful recognition. Yet it was oddly
alien, connected to nothing his conscious mind could produce.

           
 
"The doctors say you're probably very
confused," the voice continued. It was a calm, tender voice, with a
slightly husky catch in it, as if she had been crying. She. Yes. It was
definitely a woman. He had a vague memory of that voice calling to him, pulling
him out of a strange, suffocating darkness. She began reciting a litany of
injuries, and he listened to her voice with fierce concentration, only
gradually realizing that she was talking about him. He was injured. Not dead,
not buried alive.

           
 
The tidal wave of relief exhausted him.

           
 
She was still there the next time he surfaced,
and this time the initial terror was of shorter duration. Fractionally more
alert, he decided she was hoarse rather than teary.

           
 
She was always there. He had no concept of
time, only of pain and darkness, but gradually he became aware that there were
two darknesses. One was in his mind, paralyzing his thoughts, but he could
fight it. Slowly that darkness was becoming less. Then there was the other
darkness, the absence of light, the inability to see. Again he would have
panicked if she hadn't been there. Over and over she explained, as if she knew
he would only gradually comprehend her words. He wasn't blind; there were
bandages over his eyes, but he wasn't blind. His legs were broken, but he would
walk again. His hands were burned, but he would use them again. There was a
tube in his throat to help him breathe; soon the tube would be removed and he
would talk again.

           
 
He believed her. He didn't know her, but he
trusted her.

           
 
He tried to think, but words boomeranged
around in his head until he couldn't make sense of them. He didn't know...
There was so much he didn't know. He didn't know anything. But he couldn't
catch the words and arrange them in proper order so he'd know what it was he
didn't know. It just didn't make sense, and he was too tired to fight.

           
 
Finally he woke to find that his thoughts were
clearer, the confusion different, because the words made sense even though
nothing else did. She was there. He could feel her hand on his arm, could hear
her slightly hoarse voice. Did she stay with him all the time? How long had it
been? It seemed forever, and it nagged at him, because he felt as if he should
know exactly.

           
 
There was so much he wanted to know, and he
couldn't ask. Frustration ate at him, and his arm flexed beneath her fingers.
God, what would happen to him if she left? She was the one link he had to the
world outside the prison of his own body, his link to sanity, the only window
in his world of darkness. And suddenly the need to know coalesced inside him
into a single thought, a single word:
Who?

           
 
His lips formed the word and gave birth to it
in silence. Yes, that was the word he'd wanted. Everything he wanted to know
was summed up in that one small word.

           
 
Jay gently laid her fingers over his swollen
lips. "Don't try to talk," she whispered. "Let's use a spelling
system. I'll recite the alphabet, and whenever I get to the letter you want,
twitch your arm. I'll do the alphabet over and over until we've spelled out
whatever you want to say. Can you do that? One twitch for yes, two twitches for
no."

           
 
She was exhausted; it had been two days since
the first time he had woken up, and she had been with him for most of that
time. She had talked until her voice was almost gone, her words giving him a
bridge out of his coma into reality. She knew when he was awake, sensed that he
was terrified, felt his struggle to understand what had happened. But this was
the first time his lips had moved, and she was so tired she hadn't been able to
grasp what he'd been trying to say. The alphabet game was the only way she
could think of for them to communicate, but she didn't know if he'd be able to
concentrate enough for it to work. His arm twitched. Just once.

           
 
She drew a deep breath, forcing her exhaustion
away. "All right. Here we go. A... B...C...D..."

           
 
She began to give up hope as she slowly ran
through the alphabet and his arm lay motionless under her hand. It had been a
long shot, anyway. Major Lunning had said it could be days before Steve's mind
would -be clear enough for him to really understand what was going on around
him. Then she said "W," and his arm twitched.

           
 
She stopped. "W?"

           
 
His arm twitched. Once, for "Yes."

           
 
Joy shot through her. "Okay, W is the
first letter. Let's go for the second one. A... B..."

           
 
His arm twitched on the H.

           
 
And again on the O.

           
 
He stopped there.

           
 
Jay was astounded. "
Who?
 
Is that it? You want to
know who I am?" His arm twitched.
Yes.

           
 
He didn't know; he really didn't know. She
couldn't remember if she had mentioned who she was, except when she had first
begun talking to him. Had she thought he would remember her voice after not
seeing her for five years?

           
 
"I'm Jay," she said gently.
"Your ex-wife."

           
 
He was very still. Jay had the impression that
she could feel him withdrawing, though he didn't move a muscle. A surprisingly
sharp pain bloomed inside, and she chided herself for it. What had she
expected? He couldn't get up and hug her, he couldn't speak, and he was
probably exhausted. She knew all that, yet she still had the feeling that he
was pulling back from her. Did he resent being so dependent on her? Steve had always
been aloof in a curious sort of way, holding people away from him. Or maybe he
resented the fact that she was here with him now, rather than some impersonal
nurse. After all, a certain degree of independence remained when the service
was detached, done because it was a job. Personal service carried a price that
couldn't be paid in dollars, and Steve wouldn't like that.

           
 
She schooled her voice to a calmness she
didn't feel. "Do you have any more questions?"

           
 
Two twitches.
No.

           
 
She had been pushed away so many times that
she recognized it now, even as subtle and unspoken as the message was. It hurt.
She closed her eyes, fighting for the control that would let her speak again.
It was a moment before she managed it. "Do you want me to stay in here
with you?" He was still for a long moment. Then his arm twitched. And
twitched again.
No.

           
 
"All right. I won't bother you
again." Her control was shot, her voice thin and taut. She didn't wait to
see if he made any response, but turned and walked out. She felt almost sick.
Even now, it was an effort to walk out and leave him alone. She wanted to stay
with him, protect him, fight for him. God, she would even take his pain on
herself if she could. But he didn't want her. He didn't need her. She had been
right all along in thinking that he wouldn't appreciate her efforts on his
behalf, but the pull she thought she had felt between them had been so strong
that she had ignored her own good sense and let Frank talk her into staying.

           
 
Well, at least she should let Frank know that
her sojourn here was over, and that she would be leaving. Her problems hadn't
changed; she still had to find a new job. Digging a coin out of her purse, she
found a pay phone and called the number Frank had given her. He hadn't spent as
much time at the hospital these past two days as he had before; in fact, he
hadn't been there at all that day. He answered promptly, and hearing his calm
voice helped. "This is Jay. I wanted you to know that my job is over.
Steve doesn't want me to stay with him anymore."

           
 
"What?" He sounded startled.
"How do you know?"

           
 
"He told me."

           
 
"How in blue blazes did he do that? He
can't talk, and he can't write. Major Lunning said he should still be pretty
confused, anyway."

           
 
"He's a lot better this morning. We
worked out a system," she explained tiredly. "I recite the alphabet,
and he signals with his arm when I get to the letter he wants. He can spell out
words and answer questions. One twitch means 'Yes'

           
 
and two twitches means 'No.'"

           
 
"Have you told Major Lunning?" Frank
asked sharply.

           
 
"No, I haven't seen him. I just wanted to
let you know that Steve doesn't want me with him."

           
 
"Have Lunning paged. I want to talk to
him. Now."

           
 
For such a pleasant man, Frank could be
commanding when he chose, Jay thought as she went to the nurses' station and
requested that Major Lunning be paged. It was five minutes before he appeared,
looking tired and rumpled, and dressed in surgicals. He listened to Jay, then,
without a word, walked to the pay phone and talked quietly to Frank. She
couldn't make out what he was saying, but when he hung up he called a nurse and
went directly into Steve's room. Jay waited in the hallway, struggling to
handle her feelings. Though she knew Steve and had expected this, it still
hurt. It hurt more now than it had when they had divorced. She felt oddly..
.betrayed, and bereft, as if she had lost part of herself, and she hadn't felt
that way before. She hadn't felt so strongly connected to him before. Well,
this was just another classic example of her own intensity leading her to read
things into a situation that simply weren't there. Would she ever learn?

           
 
Major Lunning was in Steve's room a long time,
and a phalanx of nurses came and went. Within half an hour Frank arrived, his
face taut and set. He squeezed Jay's arm comfortingly as he went past, but he
didn't stop to talk. He, too, disappeared into Steve's room, as if something
dreadfully important were going on in there.

           
 
Jay moved to the visitors' lounge, sitting
quietly with her hands folded in her lap while she tried to plan what she
should do next. Return to
New York
, obviously, and get a job. But the idea of hurling herself back into
the business world left her cold. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want
to leave Steve. Even now, she didn't want to leave him.

           
 
Almost an hour later Frank found her in the
lounge. He looked at her sharply before going to the coffee machine and buying
two cups. Jay looked up and managed a smile for him as he approached. "Do
I really look as if I need that?" she asked wryly, nodding toward the
coffee.

           
 
He extended a cup toward her. "I know. It
tastes worse than it looks. Drink it anyway. If you don't need it now, you will
in a minute." She took the cup and sipped the hot liquid, grimacing at the
taste. It was a mystery how anyone could take simple water and coffee and make
them taste so horrible. "Why will I need it in a minute? It's over, isn't
it? Steve told me to go away. It's obvious that he doesn't want me here, so my
presence will only upset him and slow his recovery."

           
 
"It isn't over," Frank said» looking
down at his own coffee, and his flat tone made Jay look at him sharply. He
looked haggard, with worry etching new lines into his face.

           
 
A cold chill ran down her spine and she sat up
straight. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Has he relapsed?"

           
 
"No."

           
 
"Then what's wrong?"

           
 
"He doesn't remember," Frank said
simply. "Anything. He has amnesia." Frank had been right; she did
need the coffee. She drank that cup, then got another one. Her head was
reeling, and she felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. "What else
can go wrong?" she asked, talking mostly to herself, but Frank knew what
she meant.

           
 
He sighed. They hadn't counted on this. They
had needed him awake, able to talk, able to understand what needed to be done.
This latest development had thrown a monkey wrench into the whole plan. He
didn't even know who he was!

           
 
How could he protect himself if he didn't know
who he had to be on guard against? He couldn't recognize friends or enemies.

           
 
"He's been asking for you," Frank
said, taking her hand. She started, already rising to her feet, but he tugged
on her hand and she sank back into her chair.

           
 
"We've been asking him a lot of
questions," he continued. "We used your system, though it takes a
while. When you told him you were his ex-wife, it confused him, scared him. He
couldn't remember you, and he didn't know what to do. Remember, he's still
easily confused. It's hard for him to concentrate, though he's getting better
fast."

           
 
"Are you certain he's asking for
me?" Jay asked, her heart pounding. Out of everything he had said, her
emotions had centered on his first sentence.

           
 
"Yes. He spelled out your name over and
over."

           
 
The instinct to go to him was so strong it was
almost painful. She forced herself to sit still, to understand more. "He
has total amnesia? He doesn't remember anything?"

           
 
"He doesn't even know his own name."
Frank sighed again, a heavy sound.

           
 
"He doesn't remember anything about the
explosion or why he was there. Nothing. A total blank. Damn it!" The last
expressed his helpless frustration.

           
 
"What does Major Lunning think?"

           
 
"He said total amnesia is extremely rare.
More often it's a sort of spot amnesia that blocks out the accident itself and
anything that happened a short while before it. With the head trauma Steve
suffered, amnesia wasn't that unexpected, but this..." He made a helpless
gesture.

           
 
She tried to think of what she had read about
amnesia, but all that came to mind was the dramatic use often made of it on
soap operas. Invariably the amnesiac recovered his full memory during a highly
dramatic moment, just in time to prevent a murder or keep from being murdered
himself. It was good melodrama, but that was all it was.

           
 
"Will he regain his memory?"

           
 
"Probably. Part of it, at least. There's
no way to be certain. It might start coming back almost immediately, or it
could take months before he begins remembering anything. Major Lunning said
that his memory will come back in bits and pieces, usually the oldest memories
first."

           
 
Might. Probably. Could. Usually. What it all
added up to was that they simply didn't know. In the meantime Steve lay in his
bed, unable to talk, unable to see, unable to move. All he could do was hear
and think.

           
 
What would it be like to be so cut adrift from
everything familiar, even himself? He had no point of reference for anything.
The thought of the inner terror he must be feeling squeezed her heart.

           
 
"Are you still willing to stay?"
Frank asked, his clear eyes filled with concern. "Knowing that it might
take months or even years?"

           
 
"Years?" she echoed faintly.
"But you only wanted me to stay until the surgery on his eyes was
completed."

           
 
"We didn't know then that he wouldn't
remember anything. Major Lunning said that being around familiar things and
people would help stimulate his memory, give him a feeling of stability."

           
 
"You want me to stay until he regains his
memory," Jay stated, putting it into words. The idea frightened her. The
longer she stayed with Steve, the more strongly she reacted to him. What would
happen to her if she fell in love with him far more deeply than she had the
first time, only to lose him again when he returned to his footloose life? She
was afraid that she already cared too much to simply walk away. How could she
walk away when he needed her?

           
 
"He needs you," Frank said, echoing
her thoughts. "He's asking for you. He responds to you so strongly that he
keeps confounding Major Lunning's predictions. And we need you, Jay. We need
you to help him in any way you can, because we need to know what he
knows."

           
 
"If sentiment won't get me, try
patriotism?" she asked tiredly, leaning her head back against the padded
orange vinyl chair. "It wasn't necessary. I won't leave him. I don't know
what's going to happen, or how we'll handle it if he doesn't get his memory
back soon, but I won't leave him."

           
 
She got up and walked out, and Frank sat there
for a moment staring at the cup still in his hands. From what she'd just said,
he knew that Jay sensed she was being manipulated, but she was willing to let
them do it because Steve was so important to her. He had to talk to the Man
about this latest development, and he wondered what would happen. They had
counted on Steve's willing participation, on his talents and skills. Now they
had to let him walk out on the streets as helpless as a baby because he
couldn't recognize the dangers, or take the risk of telling him things that
could set back his recovery. Major Lunning had been adamant that upsetting him
would be the worst thing they could do. He needed quiet and tranquillity, a
stable emotional base; his memory would return faster under those conditions.
No matter what decision the Man reached, Steve was at risk. And if Steve was at
risk, so was Jay.