Amnesiac Ch. 01

SYNOPSIS: Kate Pendleton has a good life- a loving husband, a loyal best friend, and a house in the suburbs. But after a memory-shattering accident, she is forced to figure out how much of her life and her past is real, how much is a figment of her imagination, and whether any of it was put into her mind by someone else.

Chapter One — The Accident

Sunday was chore day, and Kate was on a tear.

She'd bounded out of bed at the crack of dawn, as usual, and by mid-morning had already conquered the dirty laundry, the dishes, and the leaves in the yard. She returned the rake to the shed and skipped across the grass to the back entrance, where James was still working on the dog door. It had been his first task of the day, and the way things were going, it would probably turn out to be his only task of the day.

She gave him a playful shove. "That door's not gonna install itself, buddy. Hop to it. Chop chop!"

He shot her a dirty look. "This is a critical operation. One false move and the whole house comes down. It's really hard to concentrate with you standing there looking like a model from a Home and Garden issue."

"Ooh, the sexy issue, I hope. Do garden magazines have swimsuit issues? If not, I'm calling up and cancelling." She grinned. "Hey, don't blame me because somebody chose to stay up all night drinking with his friends instead of tucking into bed early like a proper suburbanite."

He frowned, and turned back to the doggie flap. "Yes, mistress. Whatever mistress commands. I am but a humble servant boy, sent to fix this door."

Her auburn hair glowed in the warm October sunshine. "Mistress commands you to work on this door while I go and change that lightbulb in the front hall. It's starting to get dark in the evenings, and I nearly killed myself on Thursday trying to grope my way down the stairs. So! Off I go."

James reached out and grabbed her by the ankle. "Hun, that ladder isn't safe. I keep meaning to go buy a new one. It's too wobbly when you get up on the top step. I'll go do the light bulb once I get done with this. You could get hurt."

"I could get hurt?" She wiggled her foot until he released his grip. "I'm not the one with a hangover, bub. Maybe some of that wobbling is from the booze." She bent down and gently kissed his forehead. "It's okay, really, I'll be extra careful. It's just one light bulb." She walked into the kitchen.

He called after her. "And the one upstairs!"

"Shut uuuuuup! Door! Now!"

James turned back to the stubborn doggie door, which was supposed to snap into place, but was refusing to do so without falling right back out again. He'd tried using shims, only for those to fall out as well. He pondered how far he could push super glue in this situation as he listened to his wife haul the heavy, clunky old aluminum ladder into the front hall. Clank, clank, clank.

"Okay!" Kate called out. "I'm heading up! This is... whoa shit! James, this ladder is brooooken!"

"I told you!" He rose to his feet and wiped his hands. "Look, at least let me hold the ladder while you're up there."

"No, I got it! I got... whoa shit... whoooaaa SHIT!"

James jumped at the sound of her scream. In an instant he was in the front hall. The ladder had toppled over onto its side. Kate lay a foot away, not moving, eyes closed, the box of light bulbs still in her hand.

He dropped to the ground. "Kate. Kate! KATE!" He shook her shoulders, then pulled back, afraid to move her too much. He tried to remember what he could about head and spinal injuries. Already, he could see an ugly purple bruise forming on Kate's forehead. "Kate, baby, hey, hey, it's James. Wake up, Katie-bear. Come on, it's okay. Hey. Hey."

Her eyes slowly eased open. She gave him a dim, unfocused stare, and he noted that her pupils weren't dilated. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey, Kate, are you okay? Talk to me. You fell. How do you feel? How's your head?"

Kate rubbed her face. "Ugh. James? What?"

"Shh. It's okay. You fell. I'm gonna go get you some water. Just stay here."

He rushed back into the kitchen and threw open a cabinet, blindly reaching for a glass and nearly bringing an entire shelf of them down on himself. He set one next to the tap and waited for the water to cool a bit before filling it. From behind him, he heard a soft moan. Spinning on his heels, he found Kate clutching the doorframe with one hand and cradling her face with the other.

He held up his hands. "Hey, don't move. It's okay. Just try to stay still."

She looked at him again with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.

"James, what am I doing in your house?"

* * *

"Okay, now just lean back and... there you go. Plenty of pillows. I emptied out the closet. Good thing you did laundry earlier." James draped a bedsheet over Kate's petite body, pulling the edge up to her neck. "There, just relax now. You hit your head pretty hard."

Kate looked up at him. "Thank you, James. I feel... I mean, I'm okay. My head hurts, but... well duh, right? No broken bones or anything."

He sat down on the far end of the sofa, near her feet. "I'm so sorry, hun. It's my fault. I should have replaced that ladder weeks ago. I should have been up there changing that light bulb, not you. Look, I promise, I'm going to go buy a new ladder after work tomorrow. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Scout's honor. I will—"

"Alright! Alright!" She drew her hand out from under the bedsheet and reached out to him, taking his hand as her reached over to her in turn. "Look, if it wasn't me it would have been you, and then I would have been tending to you while you lay here on the... on the... huh." She pulled her hand back to her chest.

"Kate? Are you sure you're okay? We really should go to the emergency room. I mean, head trauma shows up in weird places at weird times. You should at least get a scan or something."

She blinked, and looked at him. "No, no, James. It'll be fine. I think... I'm just going to lie down here for a second. I just hit my head, that's all. Happens to football players every day."

"They get concussions, hun."

"Go! I'm fine. Really."

James reluctantly rose and went back into the kitchen, ready for another round with the doggie door.

From her position on the sofa, Kate could hear the rattle of his tools and the banging of the door against the kitchen countertop. Now and then James swore, softly, barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator. The sounds barely registered in her brain. Instead, she stared at her hand.

At the wedding ring on her finger.

* * *

The room was cold. It was winter, and the warehouse they were standing in was unheated. The men in front of her were bundled up in heavy fur-trimmed jackets, white clouds escaping from their mouths with every exhaled breath. They looked uncomfortable, one of them stopping every few minutes to vigorously rub his hands together.

She stood before them in a shiny silver minidress, her arms and legs bare against the chilly air. Her skin protested at the rude treatment, but her brain refused to acknowledge its complaints. To be fair, it was cold. She was poorly dressed for the occasion. But no one had told her to think about the temperature, so she didn't. It existed in the same manner that Jupiter and Saturn existed—out there, somewhere, probably important in some way to someone, but not to her. Not at this moment.

The hand-rubber spoke. "Dinosaur toll mackenzie, fish pet?"

A voice behind her spoke, strong and confident. The words were all in English, but somehow, between her ears and her brain, they kept turning into gibberish.

"Block, regular peach," said the voice. "Cream seaweed master grease, Greek pentagram. Salad?"

Whatever it was that was being discussed, Hand-Rubber did not like it one bit. "Shark squid," he said, spitting on the floor in disgust. "Poke really ford shortly, purple!" He nodded to his fur-clad friend. "Waterfall juice clearly."

The voice was in her head now. Clear and bright. "You will complete your mission. Obey."

She looked down at the glittery silver purse in her hand. It matched the dress. Small, impractical, dangly, the kind of purse that could hold only a phone and a wallet. She reached into it with her pretty, manicured hand, watching as the lights of the warehouse made her fingernails sparkle. The hand came out of the purse clutching a black Ruger pistol. Wordlessly, she pointed the weapon at the fur-clad friend and fired, hitting him between the eyes.

"Pretend! Completeness, black! Azure!" Hand-Rubber sank to his knees, looking up at her with fear in his eyes. His hands were together again, clenching each other, shaking up and down. Begging. He was begging. Begging her. Begging her for mercy. "Azure... azure... azure..."

She pulled the trigger.

The voice in her head spoke again. "Kate," it said, sounding much less forceful than before. "Kate, hey."

She felt the warm speckles of Hand-Rubber's blood on her face as she stared at his prone body. "Kate, wake up."

She woke up.

* * *

James was leaning over her, his face full of concern. "Hey, hun. I was worried about you. They say... you know, for concussions, they say not to let people go to sleep too much."

Kate looked up at him. "You're sweet. You really are. But I'm okay. I was just dreaming about..." She paused, and furrowed her brow. "Russia, or something. I dunno. Weird stuff. What time is it?"

He crouched down on the sofa and caressed the top of her head, running his fingers through her soft hair, taking care to avoid the bruise on her forehead. "It's seven in the morning. You slept here all night. We slept here all night." He pointed to the pile of blankets and comforters spread out on the floor. "We could still go to the doctor, if you want. That bruise looks nasty. I mean... it... uh... it looks pretty on you. You know. Goes with your eyes."

She pulled herself into a sitting position, ignoring his protests and efforts to hold her down. "Nnnnnuh uh James, I'm good. Also, purple eyes? Really! What am I, an anime princess?" She looked at the grandfather clock. "Jesus. Seven in the morning already. I'm going to be late for work unless I... what?"

"Hun, you quit work six months ago, remember? The art business? The online store? That's... that's it. I'm serious, I'm calling Doctor Mulroney right now."

"But James," she protested.

"No, amnesia girl, this is my call. You're my wife, and I have to do the husbandly thing and look after you. No complaints!"

She looked down at the ring on her finger. "Husband."

"Mmmm-hmmm. So wife of mine, prepare to be doctored and babysat today, because I'm calling in sick at work and I'm taking you to the doctor for a check-up."

Kate waited for James to walk into the kitchen before rising, slowly, from the sofa. Avoiding him, and the scorn he would likely heap upon her for daring to move an inch, she crept up the stairs to the bedroom. Everything inside seemed vaguely familiar. The beautiful four poster bed, now stripped of blankets and pillows. The matching dressers, his and hers. The painting on the wall, a view of Paris at sunset, hanging slightly askew. Photographs in tiny silver frames that littered the tops of both dressers. She moved to hers and began examining each one. Black and white portraits of older people, grandmothers and uncles. James and Kate standing under an enormous "Welcome to Canada" sign, smiling and waving to the camera. A faded Polaroid of a large, shaggy dog. They all made sense in a way. At the same time, they all represented memories that didn't seem to exist.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked down at her dirty jeans. She realized that she didn't even remember putting them on, or why they were dirty. Probably it had something to do with the house work James told her she was doing when she fell. She felt the sore spot on her forehead again, confirming once again that whatever happened had really happened.

From downstairs, James called out to her. He sounded, as she predicted, quite worried. "Hun? Are you upstairs? I made you an appointment for two o'clock today."

"I'm just going to take a shower," she yelled back. She stepped out of the bedroom and made her way down the hall, closing the bathroom door behind her. After a pause, she locked it as well. She undid her belt and wiggled her hips, letting gravity take her jeans to the floor. She slid her panties down her smooth, tanned legs, and tossed them on top of the jeans. Her t-shirt and bra followed, and she twisted the knobs in the bathtub, running her hand under the water until the temperature was just right. She stepped into tub and pulled the knob to activate the shower.

Warm, sticky cum covered her face, stinging her eyes, dripping from her chin. Her pussy tingled with pleasure and arousal. It was wonderful. Everything felt wonderful. She didn't move, didn't try to wipe her face. She hadn't been told to. She simply needed to relax and wait for..

Wait for...

She looked down. The soap had fallen from her hand and was now floating towards the shower drain. "Fuck," she muttered, reaching down to retrieve it. While she was at it, she adjusted the shower knobs to get more cold water into the mix. The spray from the shower head soaked her hair, then ran down her face and into her eyes, stinging slightly, like... like...

I'm going crazy. She stood up, holding the reclaimed soap, letting the lukewarm water fall around her. Must be a head injury. I'm going crazy.

The rest of the shower was quick and mechanical, taking only as long as needed. Suddenly, she felt a pressing need to get out of the house, to go to the doctor after all.

* * *

"Aaand... now the left eye. Look to the right, now to the left. Up, down."

Doctor Mulroney flashed the penlight into her pupils one more time for good measure. "Well," he said, "the good news is that I don't see anything wrong with you. Coordination is good, responses are good, speech is clear, you're one hundred percent all there."

Kate idly swung her legs from the edge of the examining chair. "Good news. That means there's bad news."

The doctor looked up at her. "Hmm? Oh, no Kate. I'm sorry. I don't have the results of your scans back yet. But I don't imagine there will be anything wrong with you there, either. Although you are very lucky. People die every year from accidents just like yours."

"I blame James. He's the one who kept that crappy old ladder lying around instead of buying a..." she felt the Doctor's stern glance burning into her skin. "Okay, okay, it was my fault. I shouldn't have been up there in the first place."

"Neither of you should have been up there in the first place," he said, continuing with his stern glance. "Next time, one of you is on the ladder and the other one holds the ladder. No buts, new ladder or not. Okay? I like you, Kate, but I prefer to see you once every year and not a moment more."

She dangled her legs again, feeling the cool air conditioning swirling under the hospital gown. "I promise, doc. From now on it's back to apartments and maintenance men for me." She flashed him a perfect white smile, and he smiled in return.

"Kate," he said, lowering his voice, as if he were about to tell her a secret. "Your husband is... very concerned. About you. He said that you had some memory loss after the accident? That you were very confused and thought that you had to go to work. Have you been having any blackouts? Mental fogs? Forgetting things? Seeing things that aren't there, or remembering things that aren't true?"

"I don't think so," she lied. "That was probably just me being sleepy. James woke me up out of a dead sleep. I mean, you know. Not dead, obviously. Poor choice of words, huh?"

"Well that's good news, Kate," said the Doctor. He had the penlight on again, and was twirling it in circles. "I find sometimes that patients, when they suffer a head injury, have trouble concentrating. For example, concentrating on my voice. Focusing very carefully on the words that I'm saying. They tend to drift a bit, here and there, drifting back and forth, trying to listen to my voice, ever so carefully."

"Uh, yeah," she said softly. Her green eyes followed the penlight as it made circles around her face.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kate," he continued. "You're listening very carefully to my voice, concentrating on my voice, hearing nothing but my voice. You can listen to my voice and relax, because you're safe, because listening to my voice means that you're doing so well, Kate, so well, so relaxed. Listen, and relax. Relax."

The penlight's circles had gradually flattened into a single line, tracing back and forth across her lidded eyes. "Yes, Kate, back and forth. Back... and forth. Listen, and relax. Relax, and sleep. You're feeling so relaxed now, Kate. You've had a long few days, and now it's time to just relax and sleep. Relax, and sleep. Back, and forth. Your eyes are heavy, very heavy, and it's time to sleep. Just relax, and listen, and sleep. Breathe, and relax, and sleep. Back and forth, eyes so heavy, so sleepy. So sleepy. Sleep now, and rest. Relax, and sleep. Sleep."

Her eyes slid closed, and her head fell to her chest.

"Kate. Kate. Mrs. Pendleton."

Someone was shaking her, hard, insistent, calling her name, telling her to wake up. She reluctantly forced her eyes open and blinked, finding herself looking into the very worried face of Doctor Mulroney.

"Kate. You zoned out on me there for a moment. See, this is exactly what I was talking about. Mental fogs and brain freezes, that sort of thing, can be a sign of deep neurological damage. I'm going to sign you up for some more tests, Mrs. Pendleton." He swung his chair over to the computer and began scrolling through a calendar. "How about three days from now, ten in the morning?"

"That's... fine," she said. She paused. "Am I... am I going to be okay?"

He managed a half-smile. "Again, the initial tests were good. I just like being thorough. Brains are still a little bit of a mystery, and I'm not an expert on them. Now, I won't tell you that brains are a mystery to me, because I can't imagine having my doctor say something like that to my face, buuuut... let's just say we'll get a second opinion and leave it at that. I'll check your scans and call you when I know more. In the meantime, you're free to go. Please, no driving until I say it's safe."

* * *

She found James in the waiting room, his head buried in an old issue of Beaches and Resorts. He looked up as she approached, and smiled. He held up a fistful of candy bars.

"Choc-a-lot or Cloud Nine?" he asked. "I'm claiming the last Rhino Bar for myself. Had to fight an eight-year-old for it."

He stood and embraced her, wrapping his arms around her body and pulling her in tight. His cologne filled her nose, his beard stubble tickling and stabbing at her soft skin. She drank him in as best she could. My husband.

James pulled away and took her by the hands. "So how'd it go? Man, you were in there for a while. I was beginning to worry."

She looked down at her watch. "A while? I guess it was, wasn't it?"

(To be continued)