“I’ve never encountered anyone with amnesia before.”
“Is that so?” he asked, deadpan.
“I want to be sure you understand that you shouldn’t hang your hopes on me.”
The laughter threatened again. But he managed to keep a straight face as he said with absolute honesty, “I won’t hang my hopes on you.” He was here because Remy had advocated for hypnotherapy. Remy was the one in need of this speech.
He interlaced his fingers over his stomach.
She switched on calming background noise and asked him to do things like breathe and relax.
He did his best. He felt sleepy but still fully conscious.
This was a bust.
Jonah saw a woman in his mind’s eye. A beautiful brunette with long hair, curves, and upturned eyes.
He was responsible for her, was supposed to be taking care of her, yet she was . . . locked away somewhere here and he couldn’t find her.
He began to search the big, sophisticated house, room by room. He knew this place. It was expensive. Old. No, new. No . . . an old house that was new inside.
His heartbeat thudded sickly, then gained in speed.Where is she?He opened door after door. Empty rooms. Empty. Empty.
He climbed the stairs.
He was supposed to have . . . to have set the brunette free. Days ago. But he’d forgotten. She would have needed food and water to survive. Why hadn’t he come for her sooner? He’d failed.
She must’ve died by now and it was all his fault. How could he have made such a mistake? Terror and shame chased him. He pushed himself to move faster but couldn’t. His limbs were trapped in wet concrete. He dreaded what he would find and yet, at the same time, urgently needed to find her.
Where is she?
“Jonah?”
He squinted toward the sound.
The lady . . . Maureen . . . sat in her chair, watching him. “How do you feel?”
“Unsettled.” He rubbed his eyes, then scrubbed his fingers over his forehead. “Did you hypnotize me?”
“Yes. Do you remember what you experienced?”
Pieces of the dream remained, overlapping with reality, churning anxiety inside him. “Yes. I do remember some things.”
“Would you like to talk about them?”
“No, thank you.”
“That’s perfectly fine.”
Was the brunette his wife? If so, had he . . . done something to her?
This was the first time that any person had risen from the mist of his history. He couldn’t be pleased about that because the nightmare-type vision was such a bad omen.
They met back up with Remy in the living room. His thoughts rattling around his skull, he stood motionless while the women had a conversation about the island’s upcoming Sunday bean supper.
He fixed his concentration on Remy and, to his surprise, felt a circle of ease open inside him. The more he focused on her and not the nightmare, the more that circle expanded, calming him.
When he’d first seen Remy, he’d viewed her as plain.
