I whip my head to the right, to the outside world where snow falls and the mountains surround a small, seemingly unspoiled town. Then I look left, to the door, where nurses bustle in the hall, and the man I spoke to in my dreams simply… doesn’t exist.
“Jane?” Ollie’s aftershave fills my lungs, a merciful distraction from the stinging scent of antiseptic and obsessive cleanliness clinging to every surface in this hospital. But when I say nothing, he shifts and strokes my biceps with the side of his thumb. “Hey? Were you having a nightmare?”
“I was having…” I blink. Blink. Blink a thousand times. And though my heart continues to pound, the guy from my dream is already gone. The details I wanted to store away for later are like water passing through my fingertips. Gone, no matter how hard I try to hold on. “I-I was dreaming about a person.”
“Oh?” He settles on the side of my bed and hits the remote to bring the top end higher. Reaching past me, he works on fixing my pillows and helping me sit up. “You’ve remembered something?”
“I remembered…”God. I brush his hands away and crush the heels of my palms to my eyes. “A guy. He was a guy, and he said he’d been looking for me. But that’s… it’s…”
He wraps his fingers around my wrists, gently tugging them down and clearing my vision. “You remembered someone from your past. That’s good news.”
“But I lost it again!” I dig my head into my pillows and groan. Frustrated and furious. “I knew I was dreaming, even while I was in thedream. And I knew about the memory loss stuff—I told him about the accident—so I was trying really hard to study his face. Like I could store each detail away. But now it’s gone again.”
“Were you happy to see this person? Were you scared? He said he was looking for you…” His eyes flicker playfully. “Maybe he’s your boyfriend or something? And on the morning of your interview. Maybe it’s a sign we’re getting closer.”
“I don’t…” My stomach rolls with a deep, oozing dread that spears out and burns everywhere it touches. My arms. My legs. My throat. “I think it’s a sign this is going to bebad.”
“It’s normal to be nervous.” He takes my hand in his. “It’s completely okay to be scared, Jane.”
“It’s…” I grunt and whip my hand free again, slamming my palms to the mattress and propping myself up. “My name is not Jane! Stop calling me that. Jesus.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes—so sweet, so charming—darken with remorse. “I keep reading that name on the files, so I?—”
I glance left, searching my bedside table for water. Ibuprofen. A hammer, maybe. “I get it, okay? I understand, psychologically, any name is better than no name at all. ButJanedoesn’t make me feel any more human than if you called me Fido or Spot.”
He dips a hand into his coat pocket and comes out again with a small bottle of pills. Twisting the cap off and snagging a half-filled cup of water from my bedside table, he offers both and a pair of sorry eyes. “I won’t call you Jane ever again. I promise.” He forces the water into my right hand and taps two pills into the center of my left palm. “The sooner you take these, the sooner your headache will go away. Then you could probably take a shower and wash your hair. Get ready for your television debut.”
“Ugh.” I toss the pills onto my tongue and follow them with water, drinking the cup dry and tracking the cold slide of liquid down my throat and into my belly. Exhausted already, I drop my hand and burrow into my pillows, resigning myself to my headache hell. My pained Hades. With every thundering beat of my heart, my brain throbs, and with every deafening boom in my veins, my eyes sting. “You act like this is exciting.” Sighing, I close my eyes to save myself from the sting of the harsh fluorescent lights. “He was taller than me.”
Silence drags on for a long beat. Tormenting and, at the thought of repulsing my only friend with my shitty attitude, terrifying. So I peel my eyes open again to make sure he hasn’t left, only to fall victim to his all-seeing stare. The bright blue orbs and his never-ending well of patience.
He pushes for nothing. Ever.
“The guy in my dream,” I clarify. “He was kind, and he didn’t scareme. He was just there. I knew it was a dream, so I was trying to log all the details away safe somewhere in my brain.”
“But you lost them again?”
Sighing, I set my hands and the empty cup in my lap. “I lost them again. I was trying so hard to remember.”
“Well… ya know what?” He flashes a smile, somehow gifted with an innate ability to push the dread and melancholy from my mind. Taking the cup and setting it on the table beside my bed, he comes back and wraps my hands with his. “This was a breakthrough, no matter which way we look at it. You dreamed of someone, and unless that someone was me, I dare say this person was from your past. Which means youremembered. It happened once, so it’ll probably happen again. And it only took us eight days to get here.”
“Only?” I moan. “Eight days is a lot.”
“Eight days of nothing,” he presses. “Now this person is tapping at your subconscious. And they don’t scare you? They were kind?” His eyes sparkle with happiness. “That’s good news. Come on.” He drags my blankets down and gently tugs me forward. “Have a shower. Get dressed. The camera crew will be here in about an hour, which gives you plenty of time to stand under the hot spray and contemplate life. All eight days you’ve got stored in your memory bank.” Chuckling, he hooks my ankle with his palm and draws me around. “I’ll hunt Francine down and see what she’s got on her tray. Find you somethingextradelicious andextrafilling, since you always wakeextrahungry.” He pulls me around until my legs dangle over the side of the bed. “We know you like apple juice. Tropical’s okay. Grape is a no.” He takes my hands and helps me to my aching feet, and though he could—and probably should—release me, he holds on a moment longer and searches my eyes. “I was thinking I’d swipe orange and something else for you today. Let you decide which of those is your favorite. And I’lldefinitelyfind you a brush.”
Frowning, I reach up and pat my knotted locks. “It’s bad?”
“It’s charming.” He snickers. “But if we want people to recognize you, then we probably should try to make you look how we think you looked before.” His pocket beeps, startling us both and forcing him back until a full foot separates us once more. Swallowing, he snags a beeper device and reads the screen. “I have to go, but I’ll be back in time for the media crew.”
“You promise?”
He takes a step back. Two. Three. Four. He moves quickly, grabbing onto the doorframe, with his feet already out of the room. But he brings his eyes back to mine and leaves me with a smile. “Cross my heart. I’ve gotta get to the ER, but I’ll be back, I swear.”
“Okay… well…” Exhaling, I drop my gaze and stare down at my feet. Then I glance up again and open my mouth to speak.
Except he’s gone.
Just as gone as the man in my dream.
